Clyde McBride's Time to Shine
by Flagg1991
Summary: Clyde is Lincoln's sidekick and second fiddle, but after saving Girl Jordan from being hit by a car, he becomes popular in his own right...with three very determined girls. Cover by Inkuma the Bewear.
1. Clyde the Case

**The character "Cookie" is popularly known as "Cookie QT" in the fandom. She was that in girl in **_**The Green House **_**who told Lincoln his social life would be out the window if he didn't get his shit together. I guess at some point she had a cookie, hence her name? Idk, I went with it.**

* * *

Clyde McBride was starting to think he was hopeless. Puny, weak, and asthmatic, with big glasses literally taped together like a dork in a low-budget teen comedy, he was the epitome of pathetic.

And that was just the outside. Inside, he was wracked with abandonment issues, rejection issues, self-esteem issues...even his problems had problems, and Dr. Lopez, whom he saw thrice a week, literally referred to him as "Clyde the Case." As in head case. Or maybe basket case. Those were the same thing, though, right?

Eh, whatever. Anyway, he was an all around dweebtard, but he was better than he used to be. Before Howard and Harold adopted him, he lived at a group home in Detroit, a rough and tumble facility where the older boys picked on him mercilessly and the staff ignored him, He wet the bed up until he was eight and pooped himself once or twice. That alone was humiliating, but every time it happened, the staff made damn sure the other residents knew. _Damn it, _they'd cry, voices resounding through the halls, _McBride pissed the bed again!_ The other kids made fun of him extra hard on those days...and coincidentally, those were the days he wound up in one of the bathroom stalls, sobbing silently with his head hung, being as quiet as possible because if anyone heard, they'd tease even worse.

But that was the past, and though it bothered him on a subconscious level, he never let himself dwell or throw pity parties. Hey, lots of people have it rough...rougher than he did. He was never abused or molested or starved, so what right did he have to bitch? _Oh, boo hoo, people were mean to me. _So? Did you die? After he first moved in with his dads, he did dwell a little, and let me tell you, it ate him _up _inside. Then, one day, Dr. Lopez told him something that he'd heard before, but really only clicked then. _Harboring these feelings can only hurt you, Clyde. You need to let go. _

The clouds parted and for the first time ever, he _got _it. She was right. His depression, his anxiety...it was all him. He could keep it to his chest like a hoard of toxic waste, or he could let go and make the best of things.

He chose the latter.

Now, years later, he was almost twelve, had a nice home, two loving parents, a network of chums, pals, and acquaintances, and a best friend in Lincoln Loud. There were Lincoln's sisters, too, but he wasn't sure what category to put them in: Friends...or pals. To him, pals were different from friends. Friendship is stronger, palitude is more casual. You nod to a pal as you pass him in the hall, but for a friend you stop and chat. He liked Lincoln's sisters (Luna was a real bro, Leni was sunshine and goodness incarnate, and Lola, while bossy, had a soft side that was all the sweeter because of its rarity), but they weren't really _friends_. Then again, they weren't pals either. Hmmm. He'd have to think deeper on that, but suffice it to say, he wasn't a socially maladjusted outcast, he knew lots of people and they seemed to like him. Wah-hoo.

A lot of people seemed to hate his black fucking guts though. Older boys from the middle school called him weak, dumb, and gay, and a bunch of random people created a Facebook page about how much he sucked. There were fifteen likes...fifteen! And some of them from grown ass men he'd never met in his life. Like...uh, why the Clyde hate, guys? I'm not saying I'm likeable or anything, but damn, a Facebook page? Really? The hell did I do to _you? _

He messaged the page asking wtf, and they fired back with a laundry list of reasons he was the worst person ever.

_You're useless  
You're not needed  
Your crush on Lori is creepy  
Your dads are more interesting than you  
You nosebleeds are gross._

Followed by a middle finger.

Damn. Clyde was fair - he sent back a fire emoji cuz wow, you just roasted the fuck out of me. He logged off with more questions than answers (like who the hell are you and how do you know all this?) and while he laughed it off at the time, later on, lying awake in bed, he went over it again and again, his chest growing heavier with every pass until he could hardly breathe. That asshole was right, he _was _useless and gross and all that other stuff; he tagged along on all Lincoln's zany adventures...then what? He came home and sat on the couch, kind of like a vacuum cleaner when you're done with it...you know, put it in the closet until next time. Left to his own, he didn't do much of anything, he just...existed.

As for the nosebleeds...yeah, he agreed, they were gross and doing a load of laundry every three days because all of his shirts were splattered with blood was a pain in the ass. Was his crush on Lori (umf) really 'creepy', though? He went back to the last time he was at the Loud house. He and Lincoln were sitting on the couch playing _Steal That Car: Botswana _when Lori (umf) passed by with an overfull laundry hamper in her arms. Clyde caught a whiff of her sweet perfume and stiffened. Oh no. "Lincoln," she called over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen, "I dropped my sock, can you grab it?"

"Yeah," Lincoln muttered, transfixed by the onscreen action, "gimme a minute."

Sock? As in...the garment Lori wore over her beautifully crafted foot? He looked over the back of the couch, and there it was, lying lost and forlorn on the floor, blue and ankle high with white trim. Clyde's heartbeat sped up and his stomach coiled like a snake (_join or die, motherfucker_). All he had to do was lean over, reach out...and Lori's (umf) sock would be in his hand. He imagined it still warm with her body heat...saw himself grinning giddily down at it...pressing it to his nose and sniffing.

That last one snapped him out of it. Oh, God! Lori's (umf) feet were exquisite and all, but a sock was a sock and...just ew.

Yeah, he thought later as he lay in bed, his crush on her _was _creepy...but have you seen her? She's stunning. Warm brown eyes, silky blonde hair, small but perky breasts - he shipped him and her _hard_.

No, literally, he wrote a fanfic where they got it on once. She was on top and pinned his hands above his head, then..._dominated and had her way with the boy. _

And you wonder why people call you creepy, Clyde.

I know, but Lori (umf). She's not only a beautiful woman, she's also an older woman...more experienced and mature. Nothing's hotter than that. And yes, he realized he kind of had a mommy thing going on. Not like he wanted to do his actual birth mother (Christ, who _does _that?), but the mother / older sister dynamic really did it for him. Dr. Lopez said he was seeking the mother he never had and transferring his repressed emotions onto Lori (umf). Maybe so. Then again, maybe he just dug older chicks. I mean...come on, Lori (umf) has curves. What did a girl _his _age have? Flat chest, shapeless body, no butt...they also wouldn't take care of you like an older girl.

For better or worse, creepy or not, Clyde liked 'em old. You know what Smokey from _Friday _says: The older the berry, the sweeter the juice. Lori (umf) was seventeen, and that struck Clyde as a damn good age for a little cradle robbing. You might say the odds were stacked against him, but he was determined to make her his girlfriend by (amost) any means neccessary - he wasn't gonna kidnap her and _make _her, but he also wasn't going to just stand there and let the most perfect, angelic creature to trod the earth slip through his fingers. Oh no. He'd move any mountain, swin any sea, and fight any bad guy.

Bad guys like Bobby Santiago.

Oooh, Clyde hated him. Bobby was just some punk kid looking to get his little chorizo stick wet; Clyde was a man who wanted a real, committed relationship. Why Lori thought Bobby was the better choice, Clyde would never know. Hey, I got issues, but I'm not some punk faggot in a green shirt like _hey, broham, gimme some skin_.

Remembering how Bobby tried to steal Lincoln away from him the same way he stole Lori made Clyde _fume. _I don't have shit, and here comes this dickhead down the pike with _everything_ trying to take my girl _and _my best friend.

Deep breath, Clyde.

In.

Out.

Anyway, on the morning of September 28, Clyde woke to the beeping of his alarm, his mind muddled and his eyes blinking. He leaned over, turned it off, and flopped back against the pillow, his hands coming to rest on his naked chest like Dracula in repose. His head rapidly cleared, but his vision did not; the world was a watery blur and he could hardly make out the light fixture above the bed. It'd help if he put his glasses on, but hey, one step at a time. He used to wear contacts but those irritated his eyes, and God help you if one fell out. He scratched his head, kicked the blankets down, and sat up with a stretch. He was nude save for his boxers - once upon a time, he wore tighty whities like Lincoln, but then his nuts started growing and suddenly being restricted wasn't comfortable anymore.

That's something Lincoln didn't know anything about; he hadn't hit puberty yet, so he was still a little boy. Clyde had hair under his arms now and his voice was deeper...not much, but enough that everyone noticed. Lincoln still sounded like a little girl, and Clyde bet his nuts were the same size...small, slack, not producing any testosterone. _Hiya, little man, _Clyde saw himself saying. He was inexplicably six feet tall with bulging muscles and Lincoln was three inches, maybe four. They looked like Spongebob and Cousin Blackjack in SB's memories. _He's gonna kick my ass, Gary! _

Only Blackjack was the _real _little man. Clyde never understood that. Was he _always _small, and Spongebob remembered wrong...or did he just not grow? That would mean Spongebob was even smaller once. How small are real sponges, anyway?

He'd worry about that later. Right now, he needed to get up, get dressed, and get out the door; school started in an hour and he wanted to get to Lincoln's house on the earlier side...that way he could watch Lori (umf) getting into the van. That's right, snowflake, shift that gear! Shift it good.

Getting up, he crossed to the dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans, which he then put on. Next came a long sleeved yellow and blue striped shirt with a white collar. For some reason, his fathers just _loved _striped shirts. Clyde had one in every color known to man...even a pink and purple one that made him look like a gay Freddy Krueger. Clyde didn't really give a shit what he wore, he was just glad to have clothes. Back in the group home, he only got new threads when the old ones started rotting from his body. To be honest, though, he wouldn't mind a fur coat like one of the rappers on BET. Those were cool. His dads wouldn't mind, but it'd probably wind up being fake since they were into that PETA crap lately. You know middle aged gay men, always following the latest, hottest trends. Clyde loved them but come on, tofu? Cleopatra eats better than this!

The funny thing was, a lot of the tofu products they bought made big noise about how much they tasted like meat. JUST LIKE HAMBURGER! Maybe Clyde was missing the point, but...why? He, personally, believed that eating other people was wrong (unless we're talking sexually, then it was aokay), and he'd throw up a little if he bit down on a burger that TASTES JUST LIKE HUMAN FLESH. No, thank you, I'll pass. Got any beans?

Yes...but they're _kidney _beans!

He laughed. Puns were awesome. That's why he liked Luan so much; she could come up with them like _that. _No one else appreciated that shit, but it kept him rolling.

Dressed for the day, he put his socks and shoes on then went straight into the bathroom; since he was an only child, he didn't have to wait in any wack ass lines unlike Lincoln. His sisters did it on purpose, though; every time that boy had to pee, they suddenly mobbed the bathroom like it was Elvis or something. _Me! No, meeee! _They did it to him, too. One time, he went to go use it only for Lana to whip out in front of him and rush in. Damn, alright. He waited, then she _finally _came out in a cloud of green, shit scented air. _I feel five pounds lighter, _she happily proclaimed. Yuck, okay, this is rank but manageable.

Then Lynn did some kind of flying back leap, landed in front of him, and slammed the door with a smirk.

Fine.

When _she _came out, the stench of hers and Lana's combined brands made him gag. _She's all yours, McBride, _she said and slapped his back.

Nah, nevermind, I'll wait 'til I get home.

In the bathroom, he took a whizz (I keep doing this, I must have a fetish...piss on me, Lori, umf) then checked himself in the bathroom mirror. Was it the lighting, or did his upper lip look a little darker than usual? He turned left and right, then tilted his head slightly back. Yep, it _was _darker. He was growing a stache!

"Nice," he complimented, and he reflection grinned knowingly. if he grunted and strained really hard, maybe he'd develop one like One Eye Jack. One Eye Jack was the _man. _Not only was he badass af, he was also a positive black male role model. Outside of his dad, he didn't see that too often. You had Obama, but he was a lying politician, and, uh...you know, there isn't much color in Royal Woods. You had a stray Asian or Hispanic here and there, but discounting that, place was whiter than a Maroon 5 concert.

Wonder how Lori would look as a black woman.

Probably just as umf as always, but in mahogany. Ummm. They could _really _play big sister / little brother then. His smile faltered as he imagined their encounter. Ever see _Joe Dirt? I'm your sister, I'm your sister...YOU'RE MY SISTER *cums*_

Ugh, why do you always have to make shit creepy?

Well, my past experiences…

Fuck your past experiences, nigga. Tighten up.

Alright. Fine. Damn. He grabbed his toothbrush from the wall mounted holder, held it under the sink, and added toothpaste. He brushed virogously because caivities sucked, then spat. Next, he gurgled with mouthwash. He pointed a finger gun at the mirror and winked. "Looking fly, my man."

He slapped the sinktop, turned, and went into the hall. A deep, otherworldly hush hung over the house, so loud if made his ears hurt. Light spilled from the kitchen, which told him his dads were up...they were just being very, very quiet.

Must be hunting rabbits.

Nah, but seriously, you'd be surprised by how little noise two gay men make in the course of their daily lives. Harold and Howard were what Clyde thought of as _refined & fosisticated_ (that last one came from Spongebob..or maybe it was something else, idk). They dressed well, read classic literature while sipping wine, and enjoyed the proverbial finer things in life, like knick knacks, doilies, bronze busts on pedestals, and caviar. Harold was a tentrued linguistics professor at Shipman University in Elk Park, and Howard wrote a nationally syndicated advice column (_Ask a Gay Man)_. Neither one was a snob - they were kind and accepting of everyone - but they also weren't the types to suffer a mess, getting their hands dirty, or loud, sustained sounds like the kinds you hear at Lincoln's house. There were times the sleepy tranquility really got to him and he started feeling suffocated. _Man, _he would say, _this place is sucking me dry, I'm going to Linc's where there are people, noise, and LIFE._

Ten minutes at the Loud house, though, and he came _running _home. Lola yelling in one ear, Lana in the other, Luan cracking joke after joke after joke, Leni, Lynn, Lucy popping up outta nowhere, screaming, crying, fighting, Lynn Sr. singing along to the radio as he shook his ass...cooking dinner in his pink apron _(looks like I'm not the only one with a gay dad)_. Coming back after a few hours at Linc's place was like a drink of cold water on a hot ass day.

Then the cycle repeated itself. Wah, I'm lonely; wah, there's too many people here. He did get lonely, but he didn't know if he wanted fifty sisters like Lincoln.

Come to think of it, you know what the Loud house reminded him of?

The group home.

Shiver.

In the kitchen, Howard stood at the counter, using a butter knife to smear toast with avocado spread, and Harold sat at the table with a mug of coffee at his right hand and his face buried in the morning paper. A big black and white photo of Nicolás Maduro stared at Clyde as he sat, eyes closed and neck stretched. **VENEZUELAN LEADER TOPPLED IN COUP, HANGED, PARADED THROUGH STREETS. **Below that: **New President vows "holocaust" of socialists. **

"Morning, son," Harold said and flipped a page.

"Good morning, honey," Howard said over his shoulder, "would you like some toast?"

Clyde's stomach rumbled at the promise of cold avocado patee. Knock it all you want, but that shit was _bomb._ "Yes, please."

Howard laid two pieces - cut diagonally - on a plate and added a pinch of parsley, then brought it over and sat it in front of him. "Here you go, dear," Howard said and touched the side of Clyde's face, "eat up."

"Thank you."

Clyde picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. Um. He never had avocado before he moved in with Howard and Harold, and the first time he saw it he held his hand up and shook his head. _Nah. _He eventually tried it out of guilt (_these guys brought me into their home, the least I can do is eat some of this avocado stuff). _Now it was his favorite food. After chicken nuggets. And pizza. And ice cream. Oh, and calamari. Fifteen bean soup.

Okay, it's in the top ten. We'll leave it at that.

Clyde demolished his toast and downed it with fresh squeezed orange juice; umm, love that pulp. Howard sat with his legs crossed and his face propped in his upturned palm, watching Clyde with motherly affection. Clyde didn't know shit about gay dudes when Harold and Howard adopted him (come to think of it, he still didn't), but, like many kids his age, he assumed that in a same sex relationship, one partner was the "man" and the other was the "woman." That is: He was under the impression that one conformed to a traditionally "masculine" role while the other adhered to a more "feminine" one. Nu-uh. That's not how it went down, at least not with Harold and Howard. They were two dudes in love who shared everything equally and did what needed doing as a team, none of this "Iron my shirts, bitch" bullshit. Although, Howard _was _more matronly than Harold, and Harold was just a _little _more in touch with his masculinity than Howard. In a way, yeah, I guess you could say Harold was the man and Howard was the woman, but, eh, what does it matter? That's between them. I love you guys, but leave me out of it; I like girls.

Like Lori (umf).

Speaking of, he needed to get his black ass in gear if he wanted to catch a glimpse of her before school. He slammed the rest of his juice, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and got up. "I gotta go," he said, "bye."

"Have a good day, honey," Howard said.

"I will," he said.

"Get good grades and make us proud," Harold said and flipped the page to another picture. Maduro lay in pieces on the ground like a snek that died rather than joined; a man in glasses stood over him with a wicked grin on his face and a meat cleaver in his hand. The caption read: _Extraño Jose admires his handiwork, proclaiming, "Dictator, the other, other, _other _white meat." _

Clyde couldn't make any promises, but he did anyway. In the living room, he grabbed his backpack from the wall mounted coat rack and slung it over his shoulder, then stepped through the door. The day was mild and bright, not cold, not warm, just...there.

Hey, kind of like him.

His smile fell a little and a strained breathless laugh burst from his throat. _Heh. Good one. *Fire emoji* _

That stuff about him just existing was self-loathing bullshit, though. He lived a full and happy life apart from Lincoln and his sisters. He had a sweet collection of Ace Savvy memorabilia, went antiquing three times a month, played bridge at the senior center, and -

Oh, my God, I suck even worse than I thought. I mean...I like all that stuff, but let's take a step back and see me how other kids my age see me...how Lori sees me. Ol' bushy head black boy in a pink and purple striped sweater gushing blood down his face and doing the robot in the middle of an antique store while a prissy gay man shoved toast down his throat. Dr. Lopez looked on in disappointment, jotting something down in his therapy log that was probably as judgemental as it was insulting. _Clyde has serious self-images issues and is basically the most pitiful loser I've ever met. _Then she logs onto Facebook and clicks over to the page she made. CLYDE HATERS OF ROYAL WOODS. Only instead of 15 likes, it had 1,500...then 15,000, then 15 million, then...EVERYONE LIKES THIS PAGE. EVEN HOWARD AND HAROLD.

_You're safe now, son, _Harold told him when they brought him home from the pound, _this is your home forever. _Only he was lying. The group home was his home forever, and they took him back there. _See ya, nigger, _Harold waved, his skin darker than Clyde's. Lori was there too...and Bobby…laughing and pointing, Lori covering her mouth with her hand. _Literally bye, Clyde. _

He stood on the doorstep of the group home, hyperventilating and struggling to keep from breaking down. Well, at least it can't get any worse.

Then Janice the afternoon staffer came out with a big pot of Stouffer's beef stroganoff. _Soup's on, mosshead. _Clyde's gord rose and in the present, he gagged. There were a lotta boys to feed and not enough funding. Meals had to stretch. Soup, Chili. Stroganoff. Every night. Not bad at first, then months of sour cream broth, undercooked noodles, meat soaked in milk and barely brown...they spit in it, too, he just knew it. He never saw them but how they _grinned_...like the Kentucky Colonel on TV. _My 5 dollar fill up will fill you up. Right, Phillip? _

Clyde shook his head and came back to the present. He was having another episode. Nothing to worry about, it happens. He swung his backpack around, unzipped it, and took out his pills. He unscrewed the lid with one shaky hand, popped a tablet into his mouth, and dry swallowed. There, nothing wrong, no spit, no Facebook page, nothing but a boy and his determination to see his boo.

She wasn't really his boo but...eh, you know by now.

Dropping the bottle back into his bag, he slipped his arms through the straps and went down the walkway. Trees lined the street, their leaves beginning the slow fade to amber and gold; sunlight filtered through the boughs and fell over him in warm shafts. His breathing gradually slowed and the knot of tension in his chest released. Ahhh, talk about feeling ten pounds lighter.

Episodes like that didn't occur much these days but when they did, he always came out of them feeling strange...spacy...like he was being pulled through life instead of waking on his own. _Right this way, Clyde, we need you for this segment...then it's back to the closet. _He didn't hear voices or see things that weren't there like a fucking skitzo, he just...had daydreams...vivid, psychotic daydreams. He was cool now, though.

Two blocks from Lincoln's house, he spotted his friend Girl Jordan on the other side of the street, walking with her head down and pink buds in her ears. Oh, shit, whaddup? Everyone called her Girl Jordan because there was also a boy named Jordan, so she needed _some _kind of identifier. She was a total bro, by the way - liked video games, burping, hanging out and blocking the hallway. She kind of reminded him of Lynn, but she didn't play sports. Unless you count kickball on the playground. He didn't.

Last spring, she was short and thin, now she was tall and thin, over five feet with spindly legs and gangly arms. Clad in dark blue shorts and a yellow T, she wore her blonde hair in a French braid and had a jaunty little bow stuck to one side. Blue. Every time he saw it, he got triggered because it was the same color as Lori's favorite tank top. She reminded him of a gazelle (Girl Jordan, not Lori); long, graceful neck, uh...idk, that's pretty much where the comparison ends. Clyde quickened his step to catch up with her.

He closed half the distance when she started across the street. She stopped in the middle, whipped out her iPod (or maybe it was her phone, he couldn't tell from here) and fiddled with it. Clyde stepped off the curb and froze when, ahead, a car whipped out of a side street and started right toward her, its engine roaring and chants of "O'Doyle rules!" bumping from the open windows. His heart seized and he cried out a warning, but she didn't hear.

Clyde had blacked out many times in his young life (like the time Lori - umf - put her arms over her head and her tank top rode up to reveal the tip of her ass crack), but it was always followed by him flopping to the ground like an epileptic. This time, it was followed by him dashing into the street like that football player in the Youtube commercials _(I gotta make things harder). _The world slowed to a crawl: Jordan standing where she was, completely fucking oblivious; the car bearing down, its chrome grill gleaming in the morning sun, seeming to smile in anticipation of the coming kill (ten points!), his heart pounding in his ears in super slow mo. He watched as if from outside his own body as he drew closer, closer, his vision jostling like a handheld camera in one of those dumb found footage horror movies.

He was four feet away, three, the car closing the final yard. "O'Doyle rules!" the chant continued, "O'Doyle rules!"

Girl Jordan looked up and their eyes met just as he sprang forward, his feet pushing off the pavement. A flicker of horror flashed across her face...then the world slammed back into normal speed when he crashed into her. They left the ground, and for a moment they were airborne, Jordan flying back with her arms and legs out in front of her and Clyde soaring like Superman on his way to rescue Lois Lane. The car shot past, crazed cries of "O'Doyle rules!" trailing behind; the front end clipped Clyde's foot and a bolt of pain shot up his leg; he cried out, sure the appendage in question had been severed, and gritted his teeth painfully together. Girl Jordan landed hard on her butt and slid across the sidewalk before coming to rest against a tree. Clyde came down six feet to her left in a heap, his head hitting the cement and his skull screaming in agony.

The car's tires screeched as it turned sharply onto another street. "O'Doyle rules! O'Doyle rules!"

Clyde moaned and stirred. His head hurt like a motherfucker, his ankle throbbed hotly, and his glasses were gone, probably smashed in the middle of the road. He pushed himself weakly up on his arms, and that's when the shakes started. Previously, he was too amped up in the moment to realize what he was doing, but now...now…

He took a series of deep breaths and fought down the panic welling in his chest. Girl Jordan sat against the tree, eyes wide and slack jawed, her face the color of sour milk. She, too, shook, her budding chest rapidly rising and falling as she sucked for oxygen. Clyde's hand brushed something, and he squinted.

His glasses.

Sweet.

He picked them up, slipped them onto his face, and the world swam into focus. Jordan gaped into space, looking like a shell-shocked refugee whose trailer had just been carried off by a twister. Clyde tried to get to his feet, but his knees wouldn't support him, so he crawled over instead. "You alright?" he asked.

She jerked him a startled glance, then nodded stiffly, her nostrils flaring. "Y-Y-Yeah, I-I...I didn't…"

"Yeah," Clyde said, "I know. You weren't paying attention. I saw." A humorless laugh exploded from his throat and he hung his head. Real smart, stopping in the street like that...God, if he was two minutes later getting out the door, hell, _one _minute later…

"N-No, I-I guess I wasn't," she stammered. She licked her lips and drew a deep breath. "Thank you."

Clyde got to his feet and stumbled back, almost losing his balance; his ankle was sore, but unbroken. Thank fuck. He had enough issues without adding disfigurement to the mix. Girl Jordan looked up at him, still dazed from her near brush with death, and he held out his hand. She stared at it confusedly for a moment (_why is it brown?)_ then took it. He pulled her to her feet and let go; she swayed unsteadily but didn't fall. "My heart's still racing," she said and laughed nervously. "That was...that was really scary." He grimaced, and her features softened with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, then glanced hurriedly at his watch. If he hurried, he could still catch Lori (umf). "I gotta go, you sure you're fine?"

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah...I'm...I'm good." She gave him a double thumbs up and flashed a sheepish smile.

"Cool. See ya."

With that, Clyde lumbered away to go perv on Lori (umf).

On the other side of the street, two girls stared after him, one tall with almond shaped eyes and black hair, and the other short with a heart shaped clip in her brown locks. The former wore a black skirt and a white T-shirt with a red star emblazoned across the front, her books pressed coyly to her chest; the latter wore a purple skirt, purple knee high socks, and a purple jacket. Her brown eyes smoldered with evil and her pink lips carved up in a devious little smile. "Wow," she drew appreciatively, "did you see that?"

Stella nodded jerkily. A red blush colored her freckled cheeks. "Uh-uh," she said, "that was really brave."

Cookie bit her bottom lip. "And fucking sexy." She tracked Clyde with her gaze, staring openly at his cute little butt. She and Stella were walking along, minding their own business like they did every morning, when Jordan stepped out into the street and almost got squished. Stella called out to her, but she didn't hear because she had her ear buds in like a dummy. Just when it looked like all hope was lost, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome came out of nowhere and saved the day. "God, he's like an action hero." Cookie's little heart gently pounded against her budding breast and her quivering knees knocked shakily together. There was nothing...and she meant _nothing..._hotter than a strong, masculine _man, _and, sister, Clyde McBride was a Man with a capital "M".

Stella swallowed thickly and turned her head to follow Clyde. He limped across the street the car came out of, hit the other side, and disappeared down the walk. "Yeah," Stella said dreamily, "he really is."

"That butt," Cookie said, "those toned arms, his mustache. Oof, come to mama." Her stomach twisted into funny shapes and the ever pulsating spot between her legs burned like a bed of coals. She was three weeks into her twelfth year, and ever since she was eleven and a half, her body cried incessantly out for the touch of strong, manly hands, the kiss of firm lips, the sting of penetration by a big, aching, black, macho fucking _dick_. Sometimes it addled her brain to the point that she couldn't think of anything else, and every scrape of her panties against her center teased her until she leaked like a faucet in a by-the-hour motel bathroom. None of the boys she knew were any good - Rusty looked like a clown, Lincoln was more of a girl than her, and Poppa Wheelie weighed at least 800 pounds. But Clyde...nngh~

Next to her, Stella shifted uncomfortably, her blush deeper and her chest expanding with her deep, ragged breaths. She wasn't as horny as her friend, but even still, late at night, when her parents and little sister were in bed and the house was silent, she hiked her nightdress up and played with herself to thoughts of boys, relieving the pressure that always built during the day, like steam in a boiler. She could never bring herself to go all the way, so she stopped before she came; fevered, panting, heart slamming, body trembling. In the light of day, abiding shame consumed her, and she vowed with the solemnity of a devout Christian to never, _ever _do it again. Try as she might, though, she was a growing girl...and growing girls have needs.

Being an avid reader and seeker after knowledge, she was intimately familiar with the chemical processes her body was going through; like most girls, she was flooded with hormones...hormones that screamed in her ear night and day with single-minded frenzy. She read somewhere that fourteen is a girl's most fertile age, but that was a lie; she was twelve and she knew instinctively that she could fertilize a freaking rock.

Unlike Cookie, however, she was too shy to say as much. Also unlike Cookie, she wasn't attracted to Clyde's masculinity...she was attracted to his selflessness. That was an admirable quality, she thought, and her body agreed, for even now, it begged her to let Clyde give it his love child.

"He's very handsome," Stella said evenly, "and heroic. And...and…" she winced at the sensation of moisture between her legs. Oh, no, not again. Her panties would be damp for the rest of the morning and her thighs tacky. God, think of something else, please and thank you, anything but..._that_.

"And I'm gonna fuck him," Cookie declared. Stella gaped at her. They'd been friends since Stella moved to Royal Woods a year and a half ago, and in that time, Stella had seen her steely resolve. When she made up her mind about something, she did it, no ifs, ands, or buts, and the fire in her eyes and the fixed set of her jaw told Stella that she was going to...be with...Clyde, no two ways about it.

Stella's heart sank into her stomach. She didn't like confrontation, especially with someone she considered a friend, and that's exactly what she was going to lead to...because she wanted to be with Clyde too.

Normally, she would have backed timidly down and cut her losses, but her pounding heart, clutching core, and knotting stomach decided her. "I-I like him too," she said.

Cookie fixed her with a dismissive look, then rolled her eyes. "Get bent, he's mine."

Stella's jaw dropped...then snapped closed again. Her whole life, she had been meek, letting people walk on top of her from her demanding parents to her friends and classmates. She backed down from things she wanted time and again to avoid conflict, but this time was different. Clyde's act of heroism set him apart from the other boys in Royal Woods and marked him as the kind of man a girl could build a life with.

She was _not _going to give him up. "You just want to screw him," she charged, "_I _want to be his girlfriend and -" she stopped herself before she could say _have his babies, _God, having a baby right now was _not _smart...she had to finish elementary school, then go to college, then establish herself in a good career (basically live the life her parents set out for her), but even knowing all this...she _did _want his babies.

Now.

Her body thristed for it so badly it hurt, and she couldn't stand another second.

"Oh, here we go," Cookie said longsufferingly, "Miss Rose Petals and Soft Music. If you want a girlfriend, honey, I hear Lincoln's available. A real man like Clyde needs a real woman like me, not some little Disney princess wannabe." She balled her hands, pressed them to the side of her face, and batted her eyelashes. "I beweve in fairwytales."

Stella's eyes narrowed and her body tensed. "At least I'm not a slut," she sneered. "You'll probably give him an STI."

"Oh, Cwyde," Cookie mocked, "kiss me in Paris. Wite me poetrwy." She dropped the act and regarded Stella with disgust. "You'll probably chicken out before he even puts it in. I, on the other hand, will mount him and ride him like a bucking bronco. He's not gonna pop _my _cherry, I'm gonna pop _his. _Meanwhile, you'll be crying because it hurts weal bad."

Blood crashed against Stella's temples, and she probably would have decked the smaller girl if Jordan hadn't walked up. "Hey, guys," she said amiably, "what's…" she trailed off when they both whipped their heads around. "W-What's going on?"

"Get lost," Cookie snapped.

"We're arguing over who gets Clyde," Stella said tightly.

Jordan's face crinkled bemusedly and she looked between them. "What?"

"We're into Clyde now," Cookie said impatiently. "He saved you from certain death, and that's hot as fuck. I wanna fuck his brains out and Stella wants him to play her Barry White and draw her a bubble bath."

"That's not what I want!" Stella cried, even though it _did _sound really nice. "I just don't want to pump and dump him like Miss Thang here does."

"Keep talking, bitch," Cookie snarled, "and I'll knock your ass back to Laos. Green card and all."

Growling, Stella lunged at the little bitch, but Jordan got in between them and pushed her back. "Knock it off," she ordered, "both of you."

"She started it," Stella hissed through her teeth.

Cookie put her hands cockily on her hips. "And I'll end it too."

"Stop!" Jordan spat. "Cookie, leave her alone." She expected this kind of thing from Cookie - she was a feisty little scrapper who thought she could take on the world - but she was taken aback by the flush of rage in Stella's face, and the burning intensity in her normally gentle eyes. Jordan had known the Asian girl for close to two years, and she'd always been reticent, docile, and submissive. That she was like _this_ suggested they were taking this whole thing _really _freaking seriously. "Chill out. Clyde isn't worth fighting over."

Stella and Cookie both glared at her. "Yes he is," Stella said, "he's brave and selfless. He risked his life to save you. That's _beautiful_."

"Maybe you weren't looking because your blonde head was shoved up your ass," Cookie said, "but he dove, like, six feet _after _running faster than Usain Bolt on meth. It was the manliest thing I've ever seen, and I don't' care who knows, it made me _wet_."

Jordan's face creased in disgust...but her heartbeat quickened when she remembered Clyde standing over her, his hand outstretched and his warm brown eyes staring tenderly into hers. Something stirred deep in the pit of her stomach...and she hung her head in defeat. "Damn it. I'm into him too."

Stella groaned and threw her head back, and Cookie uttered a harsh, humorless laugh. "Oh, that's nice. I got _two _skanks to deal with now."

"Screw you," Stella said. She wasn't used to using such crass language, and it felt both strange and somehow liberating. That was beside the point, though. She, Jordan, and Cookie all liked Clyde, which presented a _huge _problem. Almost every war in history started because multiple people wanted the same thing. Land, oil, to wantonly kill people (WWII...everyone went kind of crazy in the thirties and forties). She didn't particularly want to fight Jordan and Cookie, but she didn't see any other options; Cookie wasn't going to back down, Jordan probably wouldn't, and there was no way in _hell _she was. That left them at an impasse.

Jordan sighed and looked from her to Cookie, her lips scrunching. "Alright...what do we do? We can't all have him."

"We're _not _all gonna have him," Cookie said, "I am. You can have Rusty and Poppa Wheelie."

A flash of revelation came over Stella and her heart leapt. She did some quick mental gymnastics and searched her plan for flaws. There were many _but _it was easier than the alternative. "W-Why can't we all have him?" she asked tentatively. Jordan and Cookie both looked at her like she was crazy. She wasn't, by the way, she just believed in compromise. They all wanted the same thing and none of them were willing to forsake it, therefore, they had two choices: Share it or go to war and rip each other apart. War, she thought, accomplished nothing but destruction, heartache, and pain. Working in common, however, could achieve anything. "I don't mind sharing. We just have to, like, lay ground rules."

Jordan's brow knitted in contemplation. Cookie rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she said nastily, "that's not gonna happen."

She started to brush past, but Jordan stopped her. "Why not?" she asked cautiously. "I mean...we could make it work."

Cookie pulled away and shot her a dirty look. "Because I'm not UNICEF, honey, I don't give to the needy. If you want him, you're gonna have to take him fair and square." She flashed a smug, tight-lipped smile. "Which I don't think you can."

Jordan's eyes narrowed to slits and she put her hands on her hips. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Cookie said.

Stella sighed. So it was going to be like _this_.

"We'll see about that, kid," Jordan said.

"Yes we will," Cookie said.

With that, she brushed between Jordan and Stella and strode away, her steps quick and savage. Both girls glared after her, then looked at each other. "Wanna team up?" Jordan asked. "I'll share if you do."

Stella considered a moment, then thrust out her hand. Jordan took it and they shook. "Let's go," Jordan said. "We gotta get to Clyde first…"


	2. Fury Road

**Nuuo: I don't know what other writers are going to do and I really don't care. I don't mean that to sound hostile, I just mean I do my own thing, and right now that means using different characters that aren't Lincoln and the sisters. I've written, like, 90 plus stories focusing on them. I just want a change of pace. Which means I may use some of the other boys. Already had a vague idea for a Poppa Wheelie story. **

**Shadowmaster91: You're absolutely right, the tone of this story is more comedic and I erred in not marking it as such. I changed it.**

**Guest: I didn't like that episode either. It's probably my least favorite of season one. **

**OddCombo: This isn't the first time I inadvertently beat someone to the punch. Just please don't hold it against me like the other guy, okay?**

**Guest: I don't know who's being shipped with who anymore, I'm always so busy writing that I don't really have the time to relax and read other fics like I used to. I just wanted to work with Stella. I have another story coming up at some point where I ship her with Lincoln.**

* * *

Clyde McBride was two seconds too late to see Lori that morning; he walked up to Lincoln's house just as the van backed out of the driveway, swung left, and puttered away in a cloud of exhaust fumes. He slumped his shoulders exaggeratedly and hanged his head in the most obvious display of surrender ever made...outside of France. Aw, damn it.

Despite his issues, he wasn't one to let a minor setback get him down. He lifted his head, took a deep breath, and said, "Next time."

That's the great thing about having a positive attitude...every loss is an opportunity to come back again tomorrow. Granted, tomorrow is promised to no man, but as long as he drew air, he was going to keep trying. With Lori and anything else that came along. Like getting his hands on Issue # 1 of _Ace Savvy_. It was unlikely since that comic was rare and each copy cost more than the GDP of a small European country, but hey, you never know. Gotta keep hoping. Hope sustained him in the group home and it was going to sustain him now. Lori would eventually see what a loser Bobby was and she'd come _running_.

Eventually was not now, though.

Maybe tomorrow.

Gripping the straps of his backpack, he continued on and stopped at the bottom of the walk leading up to Lincoln's front door. Lynn sat on the porch railing, kicking her feet back and forth and happily munching a sports bar, and Luan practiced ventriloquism with her dummy. She wasn't very good, but you know what they say: Practice makes perfect. He wasn't very good at being a nervous wreck, but he kept at it and after a while, he became an expert. Never give up, guys.

The door opened and Lincoln came out in an orange polo and jeans. Having a super sized family, Lincoln was kind of poor and wore the same shirt every day. Well, not the same exact shirt - his mom bought a bunch of orange polos at the Salvation Army for a quarter a pop. Dude literally had a closet full of them. Clyde always wondered who donated them. A prison?

Lincoln came down the stairs and along the walkway. "Hey, buddy," Clyde said. He joked about Lincoln being a kid and stuff, but he loved the guy. And kind of envied him too. He had a big, loving family - his natural family - and was well-adjusted. In a way, he was everything Clyde strove to be. He'd never have the love and support of his biological parents (they were dead or something, he didn't know...certainly dead to him), and even though he had Harold and Howard, that kind of bothered him. Dr. Lopez went on and on about him having trust issues like it was the most abnormal thing in the world, but to him, it made perfect sense. If you can't trust the woman who gave birth to you, who _can _you trust? Amirite?

He was working on it, though. Life is fraught with uncertainties and with people, you could never really know where you stand. You just have to accept that and move on, because if you don't, you'll be a paranoid mess. He was afraid of being shafted and betrayed - anyone who's been where he has rightfully is - but that's a bridge he elected to cross when he came to it and not a moment sooner.

Anyway, yeah, Lincoln was a cool guy and Clyde thought the world of him. All that girly-boy stuff was just him clowning around.

"Hey," Lincoln said, "you just missed Lori."

Lincoln knew full well that Clyde crushed on her (Clyde didn't exactly hide it) and was as supportive and encouraging as he could be...but didn't give Clyde any false hopes. _Dude, she's seventeen, _he said once, _it's not gonna happen even if Bobby _does _break her heart. _

Now, see, Linc, that's quitter talk. If you put your mind to it, you can move mountains. Men have done amazing things with a little grit and determination. I'm _pretty _sure getting your sister naked in my bed is within the realm of possibility. I mean...I'm a realist and I'll admit it _might _not be likely, but it's not impossible. I can be quite charming when I'm not spraying blood and passing out on the living room floor. Once I overcome _that _little obstacle, I stand a good chance of becoming your brother in law.

Despite his upbeat, can-do attitude...he was starting to get discouraged. He could console himself with that stuff about not even making a decent try yet (_she rejected blood nose guy, not the _real _Clyde_), but if he was candid with himself...she probably wouldn't like cool, charming Clyde anymore than she did _does not computer, systems shutting down _Clyde. At least in the way he wanted her to like him.

Sigh. Maybe he should give up and become a priest or something.

Or find a girl his own age.

Uh...maybe, Idk, I'll think on that. As it stands, all hope is not lost, so I'mma just gonna keep on keepin' on, 'kay?

"Yeah, I saw," he said, "no big."

They were following the sidewalk now. A tepid breeze sprang up and rustled the trees along Franklin.

"I talked to Ronnie Anne last night," Lincoln said, "she and Bobby might come out this weekend."

Clyde grated. Bobby and Ronnie Anne moved away six months ago to live in Detroit with their extended family and Clyde hadn't seen them since, though Lori and Lincoln went down there a few times. At first, Clyde was elated - Bobby being gone meant his chances had increased tenfold. They'd try a long distance relationship, fail, and when Lori was at her most single, Clyde would swoop in like the Biblical Angel of Death and carry her away.

Only it didn't go down like that. She and Bobby were still a thing and Clyde still couldn't muster the witherell to even speak to her.

"Great," he said and forced a smile. It _wasn't _great, though. If Bobby was here, he'd be all up in Lori's business...maybe even her vagina, too. Holding her hand. Kissing her. Calling her _babe. _A shiver dropped down his spine and his teeth ground together. "Really looking forward to it."

"Yeah, me too," Lincoln said, missing the strained quality of Clyde's voice. "This time, I'm holding Ronnie Anne's hand even if it kills me."

Lincoln liked Ronnie Anne and she liked him back, but she had this bullshit thing about being a tough guy. _Oh, Spongebob, I'm too hard shelled for loooooooove. _Get her around Lincy-boy, though, and she quivered like a pan of Jello. Clyde was not jealous of Ronnie Anne digging him - he felt literally nothing for her beyond the fondness of a friend - but he _was _jealous that the girl Lincoln was into reciprocated his designs. Must be nice, you buck-tooth bastard; I wouldn't know.

Yet.

I don't know _yet._

They were three blocks from school when footsteps sounded behind them. Clyde jerked in alarm when Cookie wedged herself between him and Lincoln, her elbow driving into the white haired boy's kidneys and knocking a breathless _oof _from his mouth. She craned her neck to look up at Clyde (she was very short, even for fifth grader) and smiled prettily. "Hi, Clyde," she purred.

"Uh, hey," Clyde said bemusedly. He'd been in classes with Cookie ever since he moved to Royal Woods, and couldn't remember ever saying two words to her. Saying he was surprised by her suddenly appearing next to him and saying hello would be an understatement.

What did she want? No one comes at you like this without a reason. He couldn't imagine what hers was, though. Did she need advice on how to properly bleed from the nose?

"I saw what you did back there," she said and leaned uncomfortably close, "it was really brave."

For a second he had no idea what she was talking about - what did I do and where did I do it? - then he remembered. Oh, yeah, the car thing. Cookie stared at him fixedly, the corners of her mouth turned sharply up, and Clyde chafed a little. "Thanks. I, uh, I just did what anyone would."

Lincoln, still rubbing his side, knitted his brow. "What did you do?"

"Don't worry about it, cowlick," Cookie said without looking away from Clyde, "why don't you run along?"

Lincoln uttered a shocked _umph_, then glanced at Clyde. Cookie's firm, unwavering was starting to creep him out a little. Dude, don't leave me with her. "Uhhh...I'll see you later," Lincoln said, then power walked ahead of them. NO, COME BACK!

"I thought he'd _never _leave," Cookie said. "Now it's just you and me." Her grin widened even more. That sounded like a threat. Why did that sound like a threat?

Clyde flashed a wan smiled. "Uh, yeah, I guess it is." He looked around and, nope, they weren't alone. Jordan and Stella followed fifty feet or so behind, Stella with her books to her chest and Jordan with her arms at her sides. When they saw him, Stella quickly looked down and Jordan beamed.

Cookie didn't notice. "Wanna play hooky?" she asked and batted her eyelashes. "I know a treehouse where we can...be alone." She simpered suggestively and looked up him and down with a flush.

Alone? Why would she want to be alone with him?

Oh, yeah. _Tell me, Clyde, how do you shoot your blood so _far? "If you wanna talk about something, we can do it right here," he said.

She brushed her teeth across her bottom lip. "I'm not Stella, I wanna do more than talk." The disdainful way she pronounced the Asian girl's name told Clyde that Cookie noticed her and Jordan after all.

That's when it clicked: She and Stella, her bff or something, were having an argument and she needed his advice. No, she didn't know him very well, but let's be real here, he saw a psychiatrist so much he practically was one. He glanced back at Stella and Jordan. The Asian girl's jaw was clenched and her cheeks burned with crimson fury. Jordan said something into her ear, and they both sped up. Uh-oh. He was about to get caught up in a three way catfight, wasn't he?

"Uh, well maybe we can talk after sch -"

"Hey, Clyde," Jordan greeted, and Cookie grimaced. Stella and Jordan drew up on Clyde's left, Stella on the outside and Jordan on the inside, so close he could reach out with minimal straining and poke her eyes 3 Stooges style.

"Don't you lezbos have some carpet to munch?" Cookie asked.

Ignoring her, Jordan favored Clyde with a hazy smile that looked a lot like Cookie's. _I wanna eat your heart out and wear your face as a mask, _it said. Or maybe he was being paranoid again. "I wanted to thank you for saving me again. It was really brave." She blurted a girlish giggle and brushed her fingers through her hair

"Y-Yeah," Stella stammered, "it was...it was really brave."

That made three people to use that exact phrase. Hm. He was kind of on the self-effacing side, but majority rules - guess I _am _brave. A rush of pride welled in his chest, and he smiled. Why, yes, it _was _pretty brave, wasn't it? Too bad no one important saw; I could have had my picture in the paper and the keys to the city in my pocket.

Oh well. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

He had to keep playing humble, though. No one likes a braggart. _Oooh, look at me, I'm kissing Lori Y soy una mierda mexicana sin pene. ¡Viva la tarjeta verde! _"It was nothing," he said and literally waved it off. "I just...reacted."

"Oh, it was something alright," Cookie said, "something amazing."

Clyde's head swelled and his breast puffed out. If you looked up the phrase _big man on campus _on , you'd see Clyde McBride at that very second.

Is this praise for me? Why, I couldn't have another bite.

j/k, give me more.

"Actually," Jordan said, her voice unsteady, "I was wondering…"

Cookie elbowed his arm and he turned to her. "You wanna go on a date?" she asked.

His step faltered. Wait a minute...did she just ask him out? Of all the problems he had, hearing loss wasn't one of them. He _knew _he heard her right, but his brain just couldn't process the words. Date? Date?

In case you haven't noticed, Clyde was a terminal dork. He liked to think he could be charming when he wanted to be, but his idea of charming and most other people's didn't jive, apparently. What he thought was smooth was, he supposed, hopelessly geektastic to everyone else. He knew this and...well...he kind of came to the deep, subconscious conclusion that no girl would ever want him. Like...look at me. I'm gangly, I wear big, dumb glasses, and if you ask the guy who runs that Facebook page, I'm as useless as a sperm cell in a ten cent whore's asshole.

He didn't know why, but Cookie evidently liked him.

Probably wanted something from him...like help making another boy jealous, or winning a bet. She _did _seem uncharacteristically hostile toward Stella...they must be in on it together, one trying to best the other.

And owing to Stella's bashfulness, Cookie was winning.

Hm. Yeah, that made sense. Why else would a girl ask _him _out? He deflated a little and the smile on his face lost a few watts. Heh, and here I thought I reeled one in on my own.

Cookie watched him expectantly.

Even if he did, he was _kind _of trying for Lori. Sorry, hun, I'm after a real woman, not a little girl. He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped to consider his word choice _very _carefully. If she legit liked him, his rejection would sting (he knew all about _that_), so he had to let her down gently. "Uh...I dunno, I-I'm kind of busy," he said.

Cookie took it in stride. "Too busy to grab a Flipeez after school? I just wanna...get to know you better, that's all." She nudged his ribs conspiratorially.

He looked at Stella and Jordan for help, and they both stared at the little girl with open and unbridled contempt.

"I have to get home," he said, "my dads, uh, they don't like me being late." He utter a nervous laugh. "Gay men are very punctual."

That may have been a lie, he wasn't sure. Harold and Howard were, but he was certain there were slovenly and Johnny-come-lately gays out there. Had to be.

Cookie laid her hand on his arm and squeezed, the sudden and not entirely welcome touch sending a jagged bolt of alarm into his stomach. She brushed up and down, tracing the outline of his blossoming muscles, and her face turned a deep shade of pink. Jordan's jaw dropped and Stella looked pointedly away to hide her envy. "It won't take long to get there," Cookie said, a strange mist swirling in her clouded eyes, "I promise. Two minutes. One if you go real fast." She bit her lip and slowly, almost imperceptibly, thrust her hips back and forth.

Actually filling a cup from the machine at Flip's might take one or two minutes, but she wasn't counting the time it would take to get there then home. If her aim was to get to know him, they'd inevitably talk as they walked, which would slow their progress down even more. The "date" she had in mind would take at _least _a half an hour, maybe more.

"Uh...I dunno." She was putting him on the spot and he was squirming. He didn't want to upset her, but he also couldn't cheat on Lori. Maybe some dude cans be with ten or twenty girls at the same time...and have dumb-1-dimensional-OCs-I mean-children with each of them...but not Clyde McBride. He was loyal as a dog, and dogs only have one master. Or maybe two or three. Certainly not an entire village.

Still, he didn't want to reject her too harshly. That shit hurts.

You know, if I was a dick, I wouldn't find myself in these situations.

Cookie squeezed his arm again. "Come on," she quietly urged, "I won't bite." She leered like a playground pedophile, her neck craning forward and reminding him of Rick Grimes from that meme _(Tripping all day, Coral!)_. "But I might kiss."

A hot blush burst across Clyde's face and his heart skipped a long, staggering beat.

Oh.

OH.

Before he could recover, Jordan coughed. "Hey, uh, Clyde."

Clyde glanced at her, so grateful for the distraction he could kiss her.

Uh, actually, poor choice of words!

She glanced nervously at Stella, who stared down at her feet and worriedly chewed her bottom lip, then back to him. "Do you...do you wanna play kickball with me and Stella at recess? Later? It'll be fun, we can...we can kick the ball real high." She smiled like a showroom saleswoman _really _pushing the latest and greatest in used car technology on a hapless shopper. There was something about it that struck him as...what's the word...more than meets the eye, he guessed. On its face, it was a friendly grin, but he got the sense that something deeper and more meaningful roiled just below the surface.

"Yeah, okay," he said guardedly. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he suddenly (and kind of inexplicably) felt like a lamb among a hungry pack of wolves.

Cookie's nostrils flared, and her happy facade slipped a little, but she pulled it back together and smiled icily. "Maybe I can join too," she said to Clyde, "and you can teach me how." She bit her lower lip again and ran her hand down his arm; a tingle shot up his spine and turned into a cringing prickle on the back of his neck.

"Sorry, sweetie," Jordan said tightly. She leaned over and held her palm just above Cookie's head. "You gotta be this tall to play."

With a sneer, Cookie smacked it away. "Don't touch me, thot."

Jordan uttered a deadly laugh that froze Clyde's blood. "Oh, you are one to talk, slut."

School appeared ahead on the left, and though Clyde normally tried to mediate disputes between his friends, he sped up. Fuck _this. _"I'll see you guys later," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Wait," Cookie called, and Clyde went even faster, marching like a Nazi in a Nuremberg parade. Cya!

Cookie came to a halt and pouted, a puff of air stirring her hair. She shot Jordan a nasty look and bared her teeth like a small, vicious dog. "Way to go, blondie. I was _this _close to getting in his pants."

"You're such a ho," Jordan hissed.

"A ho who's gonna get Clyde while you two dweebs finger yourselves tonight. Boo hoo, I'm so cold and lonely, I wish Clyde was fucking me the way he's fucking Cookie right now."

Jordan's face flushed with anger. She'd been going to school with Cookie since kindergarten and knew her passingly; she was kind of fiery and liked to run her mouth, but Jordan never suspected she was this big of a cunt...or such a pervert. She wouldn't lie, walking next to Clyde and stealing glances at his body, she keenly felt the pinching call of nature in her loins, like every girl does from time to time...but she wasn't after _just _sex. "Is that all you're about? Getting laid? You're so shallow." Clyde was a great guy, she always thought that, and the idea of him winding up wth Cookie, who only cared about that _thing _between her legs - not him or his heart or anything else - really, really, _really _bothered her.

"No," Cookie said defensively, "I'm also about laying him."

And there we have it. "Well, Stella and I actually like him. Don't we, Stell?"

Stella tensed at being put on the spot, then hurriedly nodded. "Yeah. You just like his p-p...his thing." She blushed furiously.

"I'm also gonna suck it," Cookie said, "and put it in my pussy. Have fun with your little game of kickball, because after school, me and Clyde are gonna play lick ball." She flashed a smug, tight lipped smile, then rushed off, the heels of her shoes clicking on the pavement.

Jordan stared daggers at her back, hoping a random safe fell out of the sky and crushed her, then let out a frustrated sigh. "_That's _your best friend?" Jordan asked and threw one arm up to indicate the retreating hussy. "Really?"

Stella studied her shoes with castigated eyes. "Well...she _was._"

"Why?"

"I don't know," she said, but she did. Cookie was everything Stella wanted to be. Tough, outspoken, assertive, and took the things she wanted. She didn't let things slip through her fingers. Where Stella came from, women were expected to be subservient and submissive, and to act with an honor that exalted the endurance of personal hardship as a sign of strength. You never went back for seconds, even if you were still hungry, and you never aggressively pursue something (or someone) lest your failure bring you shame. Cookie didn't have those worries, and when she first met her, Stella was instantly attracted to her liberation. _I want to be like that, _Stella thought, and she tried as hard as she could to copy her friend, but that was a proposition more easily embarked upon then actually enacted.

Jordan shook her head and put her hands on her hips. She knew Stella even less than she did Cookie. She was a shy little mouse, that's pretty much all Jordan had really been able to gather from her. "Alright," she said. " well, _I'm _your best friend now."

"Oh," Stella said dubiously, "uh...okay."

"And I say you need to tighten up."

Stella blinked. "E-Excuse me?"

"You were no help at all back there," Jordan said, "you could barely even speak."

Stella's eyes narrowed. "Well...what about you? _We can kick the ball real high. _You're really no better."

Okay, she had her there. Talking to a boy was easy, but talking to a boy you _like _is totally _not _easy. She didn't have any crushes up until earlier (though Lincoln was kind of cute), so she had no idea what to expect; she assumed it would come as easily as it did with any boy.

Wow, was she wrong!

If she didn't have Cookie to worry about, she could take her time and ease into things, but she _did _have Cookie to worry about. "Alight, we _both _need to tighten up. And formulate a plan. Quick. If we don't, we're gonna lose him to Cookie and I don't know about you, but _I_ don't want that to happen."

"Me either," Stella said quickly. "But what can we do? You saw her. She's literally throwing herself at him."

_That _was the question. With Cookie being as forward as she was, Clyde would be inside of her by sundown. Whatever she and Stella did, it had to be drastic or else they'd lose out, and Cookie's prediction about them bitterly masturbating while she had Clyde to do that for her would come horribly, horribly true.

She searched her mind, and in a bright, searing flash, it came to her, and she grinned deviously. "I know what we can do."

"What?" Stella asked.

Jordan crossed her arms over her chest and smiled cockily. She was _very _pleased with herself for coming up with this idea. "We have to be even sluttier."

The color drained from Stella's face, and her eyes widened. "Uh...I-I don't know if I can do slutty. I'm not good at...at that kind of thing." She lowered her gaze guiltily.

Sighing, Jordan put her hand on the Asian's shoulder and took a deep breath. "I don't know if I am either," she said honestly, "I've never really done something like this before...but I'm gonna try anyway. Don't you want us to win?"

"Yes," Stella proclaimed, "very much."

"Then we have to be total, nasty whores. It's the only way to beat Cookie."

Stella flicked her eyes to the ground and nervously licked her lips. Jordan was right, but she didn't know if she _could _be a total, nasty whore. Just walking next to Clyde...with someone in-between them...turned her into a flushing, sputtering mess. The thought of approaching him...of touching him and telling him in no uncertain terms that she wanted his thing (and his babies) knotted her stomach with cold, aching dread. She'd probably shake and cough like the old man in that book by Nabokov. She was confident that she could start slow and build from there, but she didn't have the time for that.

"I don't know," she said. Her heart throbbed in the center of her throat and she felt like she was going to be sick.

"Well you have to try," Jordan said, "now come on, we don't have a moment to lose." She grabbed Stella's hand, surprising her, and dragged her across the street. Stella winced and squeezed her eyes closed, as if by doing so she could block out cold, harsh reality.

She either had to be a slut…

...or let Cookie have Clyde.

The first choice was improbable...but the second was impossible.

She took a deep breath and decided.

She would be the biggest slut _ever_.


	3. Crash and Burn

**DOCTORKHANblog: Before I started this story, I posted in a Discord server asking people why they don't like Clyde. The list that he got from the owner of the Facebook group in chapter one is a list that someone in that server gave to me. I wanted to kind of deconstruct his character or at the very least touch on those points. His crush on Lori, whether it's been show much in season three or not, is still a big part of his character. **

**Nuuo: Pretty much. I just do my own thing. Always have and always will. To be sure, if another writer does something I really like, I might be inspired to do something similar (every artist, writer, and musician has inspirations), but I don't follow trends or anything. If I was worried about popularity, I'd write Thicker Than Blood or From the Wreckage again since most people think those are my best works. I already wrote those, though; now I want to write other things. **

**FumaFam101: I've been meaning to give my boy Clyde some love for a while now, just finally got around to it.**

On Tuesday mornings, Clyde started his school day with history, a subject that he neither liked nor disliked. Like a lot of things (himself included), it wasn't good or bad, it simply _was, _like an unremarkable face in the crowd. His grades in it ranged from mid eighties to high nineties depending on the period being covered. The Revolutionary Era, roughly 1750 to 1800, was kind of interesting, then it was all downhill from there...except for the Civil War. What they thinking back then, anyway? _Hey, guys, let's line up three feet from the enemy in a big, blue rank. What's the worst that could happen? _Muskets weren't very accurate, and their range sucked, but they didn't have to get _that _damn close.

When he entered the building, he made an immediate pit stop at the boys' room, where he slapped his hands on the sink top, hanged his head, and took a series of deep, evenly spaced breaths. The excitement of being caught in Jordan and Cookie's crossfire counteracted his pills and put him in a state of high anxiety.

Oh, and can't forget Cookie asking him out. Did he say yes? He glanced at his pallid reflection in the mirror and scrunched his lips. He couldn't remember, and that troubled him. He didn't think he did, but...who the hell knows.

She wasn't Lori, but the more he dwelled on it, the more his stomach felt like it was being ripped to shreds. A girl...asked him out...and a cute girl at that. He didn't make it a point to oogle girls who weren't Lori (or Carol Pingrey, since she was umf too), but he wasn't blind, he noticed other females. In the back of his mind, he figured he'd eventually settle for one of his classmates (if he was lucky and one would have him), but he imagined it would be Penelope's fugly ass. To be sure, she was a nice girl, but Clyde was as attracted to her as Howard and Harold were attracted to, idk, Lincoln's mom. That's to say: Not at fucking all.

But Cookie...yeah, she was pretty umf herself, as far as younger girls go.

Then he remembered: Right, duh, she wants something from me. He didn't know what that something was, but he was fairly sure it wasn't to actually be his girlfriend. Earlier, he figured she had some kind of bet going with Jordan (_who can get the nigger on a date first_), and that suspicion only grew after hers and Jordan's little roast session. He _could _be wrong...maybe it was something else.

Or…

Ya know…

She could be…

Legit into you.

He stared at his reflection, and his reflection stared back. They smiled at each other, then laughed in unison. Right. Hey, it's possible, I guess, but…

You know, nevermind, I'm being negative again. And paranoid too. So, so paranoid. In his defense, though, he'd been hurt and fucked over kind of a lot, so it was hard taking someone at face value. His usual mode was mild doubt. If you told him you had a rare and unique item, he wouldn't believe you, but he'd keep an open mind. If you told him you were related to a celebrity, he'd have to see some proof. More often than not, people couldn't provide proof for their claims, which meant they were lying. How can you prove thoughts and emotions, though?

You can't, that's how. He couldn't prove that Cookie really liked him, but he couldn't disprove it either.

For the time being.

And anyway...why did he care? He had Lori. They weren't really a couple, but he was actively trying to change that, so going out with another girl was just as wrong as it would be if they were actually together.

He went back to her half-lidded eyes and cute little smirk (_I don't bite...but I might kiss), _and his heart exploded against his ribcage. His sensible side, or maybe it was his nonsensible side, told him to go for it...see what happens. There was a chance she just wanted to use him, but there was also a chance she totally wanted his bod.

But Lori…

Fuck it, dude, cut your losses, it's not gonna happen and you know it.

He recalled something Dr. Lopez told him months ago. _Your infatuation with Lori seems to stem from your fear of rejection. You latch onto the unobtainable knowing, in your heart, that there is no chance of a relationship coming to fruition instead of making an honest and heartfelt attempt with someone else...and being rejected. Lori is safe because there is no hope of her really hurting you. _He called bullshit at the time, but every time he allowed himself to think on it, something deep in the center of his fucked up little brain start to strain, like a Kraken against the chains holding it to the ocean floor. If it broke loose, he would realize she was right and…

Then what? Try to hit on a girl his own age...and get shot down? Maybe he went into chasing Lori knowing he didn't have a chance, but that was better than hoping and getting burned.

Dwelling. He was dwelling again. I don't have time for this right now, I gotta get to class.

He pushed away from the sink and went out into the hall, where kids on their way to class or the cafeteria streamed by in droves. He checked his watch and hummed. Ten minutes until the bell rang. He thought it was later.

You know a good way to kill time?

Having a Coke.

He fell into the crush and followed it to the cafeteria across from the gym. Kids sat at long tables while others waited in line for breakfast. The low, roaring din of a thousand voices echoed off the walls and washed over Clyde like a salty sea breeze. He took a reflexive whiff and crinkled his face. Ugh, what are they serving today? Smells like the rotten asshole of a roadkill skunk.

The soda machine sat in a little alcove by the door leading out to the courtyard where kids ate their lunches in warm weather. There was a snack machine next to it filled with chips, cupcakes, candy, and little plastic containers of fresh fruit that literally no one ever bought. He whipped his wallet out, slid a dollar from inside, and fed it into the machine. He stabbed the Coke button, but when he reached into the slot, he came back with a Sprite. He frowned at it. There's a metaphor to be had here: Ask for one thing and life gives you another. _Can I please have a million dollars? Oh, I'm going into poverty instead? Okay! _

Dude, shut the fuck up. You wanted friends and a loving family and you got it. Stop being such a bellyacher.

Right.

He took his Sprite to an empty table and sat facing the wall. One of those motivational posters stared back at him. DIVERSITY it said, and above it was a picture of a gang of kids, one Asian, one black, one white, one Muslim, one Hispanic, one in a wheelchair, and one in a white robe and hood (not really). Looking at that thing, you'd expect every friend group to look like a social justice rainbow, and if you came across a group that _didn't, _well, damn, found the racists, right, guys?

Then again, his friend group looked kind of like that. You had the white boy, the Mexican girl, the Asian girl, the, uh, we haven't had a Muslim yet but I know it's coming, and, uh...who else?

Oh, right.

The token black kid.

That's me, by the way. Only here to add some color. If it wasn't for him and the other brown kids hanging around, Lincoln's life would look like sour cream in a snowstorm. Ten white girls, two white parents, hell, even his dog's white.

He chuckled humorlessly. That wasn't fair. Sometimes, though, his envy of Lincoln lead him to feel like he was the main character and he, Clyde, was the _best friend. _You know the type, you see 'em in teen movies all the time: They have no life beyond their station and are often portrayed as lame ass dorks to make the protagonist look better by comparison. Remember that movie _Pretty in Pink? _I bet you never even heard of it. Well, I have two gay dads and they fuck with the Breakfast Club heavy. In it, some slag played by Molly Ringwald...he couldn't remember, he didn't pay attention, but she had this geely cuck dude as a bff. He was constantly trying to get with her and she just wasn't having it. Man, how awful is that? You're best friends with a girl...madly in love with her...and you get to watch her kissing up on another guy. It was kind of like him with Lori.

Exactly like him and Lori. How many times had he gone over to the house, all excited to see her, only to find her and Bobby sucking face on the couch? How many times did his heart shatter into a million pieces? How many times did he have to hold back his tears and pretend he was okay, then hate himself because deep down, he knew he had no right to feel that way? Too goddamn many, too goddamn many by _far. _

He popped the tab and took a long, cold drink. Where was he again? Oh, right, him being the "best friend" to Lincoln's main character. Kind of a screwed up way to see things, but he was kind of a screwed up guy. Distorted perception, self-esteem issues, detachment from reality sometimes, you know, the usual things a boy of almost twelve deals with. He was getting better all the time, though, and -

That thought cut off when Jordan sat down on his right and Stella on his left. His heart came to a halt and his muscles went stiff. Uh-oh, here comes drama.

"Hey, Clyde," Jordan chirped and half turned to face him, her forearm propping on the table.

"H-Hi," Stella said and offered a twitchy smile.

"Hey, guys," Clyde said and glanced at them both, "how's it going?"

Stella's face blazed with color and her eyes had a deer-in-the-headlights quality that he'd never seen there before. She was kind of shy, but they'd known each other for a while and she was normally at ease around him. Why did she look so nervous?

For that matter, why did _Jordan _look nervous?

That one _really _unsettled him. Jordan reminded him a lot of Lincoln's sister, Lynn, except she wasn't as big of a braggart as Lynn. She was tough, determined, competitive, and...did he call her a _bro _today? Cuz if not, she totally was. She played video games, liked comic books (her guy was SuperDude, which Clyde had to deduct coolness points for, sorry), and had the boundless bravado and self-assuredness of a girl who had never been repeatedly abandoned and rejected. She wasn't the type to blush and shake, yet that's exactly what she was doing right now.

"It's going good," Jordan said and propped her hand against the side of her face, "how's it going with you...b-baby?"

Clyde's brows furrowed. Baby? He looked at Stella, and she flashed a toothy, sheepish smile. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she went on grinning, the corners of her lips starting to strain. He opened his mouth to as her if she was okay, but jumped when Jordan slided up next to him, her leg pressing into his. He jerked his head around, and her blush deepened. He turned to Stella again; her hand rested on the table bare inches from his, her fingers fluttering. She stared down at it as though willing it to move closer.

What's wrong with these two?

Before Clyde could think of something to say, Jordan spoke. "So, uh, Sprite, huh? I really like Sprite too. It, uh...it tastes really good."

"I wanted Coke," he said, seizing on that, "but it gave me this."

"I love Coke," Stella blurted.

"Yeah," Jordan said, "Coke's really sweet. Just like...just like you." She let out an anxious _heh_ and Clyde was so confused he could barely sit up straight.

Alright, this has gone far enough. "What's up with you guys?" he asked. "You're acting really strange."

"Nothing," Jordan jerked, "we're good, we're just...you know...happy to see you.'

"Really happy," Stella added.

Jordan leaned in. "Really, _really _happy."

There was a hungry look in her eyes that worried him. He drew away, and without warning, Stella laid her hand on his, her warm, moist skin ghosting hesitantly across his knuckles. His stomach rocketed into his throat, and, with a start, he jumped to his feet and nearly fell on his ass but caught himself at the last second. "Sorry, gotta go," he said over his shoulder as he fled.

When he was gone, Jordan sighed and flopped her head against the table with a thunk. "Ow." she muttered. Whether she was talking about the pain of impact or the sting of totally striking out like a loser, she couldn't say. _How's it going with you...b-baby? _

Cringe.

"We're hopeless," she moaned.

Stella nodded. "Yeah," she said, her voice quavering as though she were going to start crying. "We really are." She closed her hand, the memory of Clyde's flesh making her heart race. She touched him...she actually touched him...

Then he ran away.

Jordan banged her head against the table as if to punish herself for being such an awkward retard. "Ow," she said again. "I deserve that." She did it one more time. "That too." She liked to think she could competently handle any issue that presented itself, but she crashed and burned so hard, the grandkids she was probably never going to have felt it in the year 2090. How were she and Stella going to beat out Cookie if they kept going to pieces every time they tried to talk to him?

They weren't.

Might as well just give it up now.

She pictured Clyde and Cookie having a romantic candlelit dinner...then going back to her place and doing it, and her guts twinged. In her vision, Clyde was on top, his face buried in her neck and his hips flying back and forth as he rutted into her. Cookie grinned mockingly over his shoulder. _Have fun masturbating tonight, bitch. _

No.

She would _not _let that little cunt have _her _man. It was going to be her and Stella fucking him, not Cookie.

"We gotta up our game," she said and lifted her head.

"What game?" Stella asked bitterly. "We don't _have _any game."

No, maybe they didn't, but that would have to change unless they wanted to lose Clyde to Cookie.

She said as much, and Stella sighed. "Look how he reacted, though. I touched him and he ran away." A wounded inflection colored her voice, and her brown eyes shimmered wetly. "Am I really that awful?" She never thought of herself as pretty, but she also never thought she was ugly enough to make a boy scream for the exit.

"No, you're fine," Jordan said, "we just weren't forward enough. We gotta _really _let him know we want him."

"How?" Stella asked.

Jordan thought for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted, "but I'll think of something."

* * *

Clyde McBride sat in his normal third row seat and listened to the teacher explain the concept of Manifest Destiny. He stared straight ahead, eyes firmly on the board, and fought to keep from turning right, where Cookie sat one row over. Several times since class started, he caught her looking at him, and each time, instead of glancing away, she smirked and waggled her eyebrows. _Hey, there, sailor~ _

Jordan sat in the row between them, and every once in a while, she flicked her eyes to him then quickly to the front of the room. The prickle in the back of his neck told him that Stella, who sat several seats behind him, was staring too.

Were they...checking him out? Cookie certainly looked like she was, the others...he didn't know, but he was leaning toward _yes_. Why? He'd known each one of them for years and they never once looked at him the way they were now. All of a sudden BAM.

The bet? That's probably what it was, them vying to get him on a date first, or to agree to a date, or whatever the stipulation was. They sure as hell weren't into him just because. Right? Or was that his paranoia and low self-esteem talking? He watched Cookie from the corner of his eye, looking for signs pointing one way or the other; she bent over a sheet of paper and jotted something down with a purple pen, the top of her ear poking out of her silky brown hair. She sat up, folded the paper, and held it out to the boy next to her. When she nodded at Clyde, his heart skipped. The boy took it, turned, and handed it to Clyde. He reached out, but before he could get it, Jordan snatched it away. Cookie glared at her as she shoved it into her pocket, and Clyde arched his brows.

Jordan noticed and laughed nervously. "That was for me," she whispered.

"No it wasn't," Cookie hissed, "it was for Clyde."

Ignoring her, Jordan opened a notebook on her desk, picked up a pencil, and started to write her own missive. Clyde watched curiously, and Cookie watched with murderous intent, her teeth grinding. Jordan ripped the sheet out and folded it. Cookie's jaw clenched and she looked strickenly around for a way to stop her rival. Jordan started to hold the note out, and, desperate, Cookie pointed at her. "Miss! Jordan's passing notes!"

Jordan's face paled and the teacher's eyes narrowed. "Jordan...come up here."

Jordan shook her head quickly from side to side. The rule was: If you get caught passing a note, you have to read it to the entire class.

"Now," the teacher said.

Everyone was looking at her now, some with sadistic smirks and others with unveiled delight, each one waiting to hear the intimate details of her private conversation. Jordan didn't move for a second...then, much to Clyde's dismay, she shoved the note into her mouth and ate it.

The entire class erupted in mocking laughter, none louder than Cookie's. She pointed and threw her head back. "Hahahahaha, dumb bitch!"

Jordan swallowed hard and panted for air. The teacher pursed her lips and regarded the girl with open contempt. "How did that taste?"

Holding both of her thumbs up, Jordan smiled weakly. "Good."

Then she burped and everyone fucking _lost _it; even Clyde laughed because lol, what the fuck is going on here? Is there a gas leak?

"Alright," the teacher said, "settle down. Jordan, if I catch you passing notes again, I'll send you to the principal's office and say you hit me. Just like I did with my ex husband."

Jordan nodded. "I-I won't."

"Good."

She kept her head ashamedly down for the rest of the class, and Clyde felt bad for her. Mainly the burping thing. That was _really _embarrassing. He was more interested, however, in what that note said. Cookie's too. He decided to talk to one of them after class and find out what was going on.

When the bell rang fifteen minutes later, everyone collected their things and filed out. Clyde waited until the room was empty before grabbing his books and getting up. In the hall, he weaved through the crowd and went to his locker, halting when he saw who was waiting for him.

Cookie. She twisted back and forth, scanning the corridor. She saw him, and a naughty smile crept across her lips. He was planning to track her down, but now, faced with her, he had the strangest compulsion to run and hide.

He wanted answers, though; gulping and steeling himself like a wrestler climbing into the ring with a much bigger opponent, he went over, walking as casually as possible. "Hey," she grinned when he walked up.

"Hi," he replied and nervously shifted his books to his other arm. "H-How's it going?"

"Good...now," she purred.

Oh boy. He might not have much experience with women, but only a fucking retard wouldn't be able to see what she was doing.

Coming onto him. Majorly.

Should he play along and see where it went, or shut it down and grill her? _What do you want from me, and why do you want it? _

"Yeah," he heard himself say, "it _is _good. Now."

Her smile widened and her eyes smoldered with lust so obvious you'd have to be blind and possibly autistic to miss it. His heart knocked unsteadily against his ribs and his stomach clutched like a fist opening and closing, opening and closing. "So, that bitch Jordan took my note, but I wanted to see if you'd like to go to Gus's after school. I know your dads are lame, but you can be a _little _late, can't you? For me?" She batted her eyelashes and Clyde's lungs withered up. Staring into her brown, doe like eyes, her body so close to his that he imagined he could feel its heat rolling from her like perfume...yeah, yeah he could be a little late.

"S-Sure," he said, "I-I guess."

Cookie bit her bottom lip and traveled her gaze appreciatively up and down his body. "Good. I really wanna spend time with you."

_Don't get your hopes up, you might get hurt._

Hey, who said that?

Didn't matter, it was the truth.

Swallowing hard, he turned away and put in the combination, trying to buy himself a little time to think. Okay, McBride, you agreed to this date, fine, but go in with low expectations. If you do, the fall won't be as painful.

Sure, he could do that. No problem. It might not be healthy to always anticipate the dropping of the proverbial hammer, but it was kind of hard not to when you've lived the life he had.

He shoved his history book in and took out his science book, then closed the door. Cookie stared up at him with hazy, love drunk eyes that hit him like a fist to the chest. Okay...maybe she _was _serious about liking him and he _was _just being paranoid. "Well, uh, gotta get to class," he said because he couldn't think of anything else.

"I'll walk with you," she said.

"Okay," he shrugged. She fell in beside him and they started making their way through the hall. As they did, Clyde stole furtive glances at her, seeing her anew. Her skin was flawless and creamy, her eyes limpid and sparkling; her pink lips glistened with lip gloss, and a little spill of warm brown hair hung slack against her forehead. Freckles dotted her cheeks, and her pert, upturned nose begged for a soft, tender kiss.

He never realized how beautiful she was.

When her hand crept into his, he went rigid; her long, slender fingers weaved through his and her palm rested lightly in his palm, the shape of her hand right and good. He looked down at her, and she offered him a pretty smile that stopped his heart. A hot blush spread across his face and a lump formed in his throat.

I am holding...a girl's...hand.

Holy shit.

She gave a squeeze, and he squeezed back, weakly. Their eyes locked, and something Clyde couldn't name stirred deep in the pit of his stomach. She glanced forward, then smiled evilly. "Oh, hi, girls."

Clyde followed her gaze. Jordan and Stella stood in front of Jordan's locker, both gaping in shock. Cookie lifted his hand like a boxing ref declaring a winner. "We're dating now."

Wait, they were?

That thought gave him pause.

If he was dating Cookie...what about Lori? He was basically cheating.

They were at the classroom now. Cookie spun and looked up at him. "Here we are." A shadow of desolation crossed her face. "I have to get to class too." She let go of his hand, and after her soft, delicate touch, he was cold.

"I'll see you later?" he asked hopefully.

Cookie ginned. "Oh, you'll see a _lot _of me." She pushed up on her tippy toes and pressed her cheek to his. "Maybe all of me," she whispered into his ear.

Clyde's jaw dropped and she giggled.

Down the hall, Jordan glowered at Cookie. "That's it," she said, "we're gonna kick it up a notch. And I think I know how."

"How?" Stella asked.

"You'll see," Jordan said and smiled evilly.


	4. The Greatest Day of His Young Life

Clyde was no stranger to being happy, sick, nervous, and scared, but he didn't think he'd ever felt all of them at once. Sitting in his second period science class, the side of his face tingling where Cookie's cheek touched his, those emotions and more seethed through him like a raging torrent. He was happy because a cute girl liked him, sick because that's how you're supposed to feel when you're in love, nervous about their date, and scared because a small part of him just wouldn't allow itself to trust her.

On a normal day, Clyde ate science _up, _but that morning, he couldn't focus on anything else but Cookie, and by the time the bell rang, he was in knots. He grabbed his books and went to his locker, hoping she would be there and suffering a rush of biting disappointment that she wasn't. He put his book away and closed the door - his next class was study hall in the library, followed by lunch. He had history homework he could do, but given his frame of mind, he wouldn't be able to concentrate so why bother?

As he made his made to the library, he looked around for Cookie, but didn't see her, and his heart sank into his stomach. Maybe she had second thoughts and didn't want him after all. *Forever alone face* Oh well. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

He stopped at a water fountain next to the gym and took a drink. For the first time since last period, he thought of Jordan and Stella. He meant to ask Cookie what was up with them, but it totally slipped his mind. He'd see Jordan in study hall, so maybe he'd ask her directly.

No, no, he _would _ask her. He had all the probable cause he needed, right? Not only did she take Cookie's note...which was clearly intended for him...but she also wrote one that was most likely intended for him as well. That's suspicious and he had every right to want answers.

He stood up straight, then fell against the fountain when someone bumped into him. He whipped around, ready to knock out some teeth (or not), then started. Principal Dahmer, a tall, thin man with big glasses and sandy blonde hair, loomed over him with a sneer of disgust. "Keeping your nose clean, McBride?"

Really? Every time I see him, he asks me that, like I'm some kind of delinquent who's constantly in trouble. I'm no angel, but I've never even been written up. I'd call racism, but he doesn't do this to the other black kids, just to me.

"Yes, sir," Clyde said as respectfully as he could.

"Good," Principal Dahmer said, "because if I catch you screwing up, you're automatically suspended."

"W-Why, sir?" Clyde asked.

Principal Dahmer stood up and stared down his nose, reminding Clyde of another principal. Skinner. From _The Simpsons. _You know the meme - _Pathetic_. "Because you're useless, you add nothing, and your nose bleeds are gross."

Clyde's face fell. "It's _you," _he said. "I thought I hallucinated that Facebook page."

Principal Dahmer shook his head sadly and walked away.

"Come back here," Clyde called, "I got a few questions for you, buddy."

"Get your ass to class," the principal ordered over his shoulder, "or I'll plant drugs in your locker and have you sent to juvie, you little faggot."

The righteous indignation ran out of Clyde and he sagged. "Okay."

My own principal, he thought as he walked into the library five minutes later just behind the bell. I barely even know the guy, why does he hate me? Because I add nothing? That's not true, though, I add lots of stuff. Like moral support for my friends. One time, Lincoln had to babysit Lily, and who was there to help him out? Me. If I wasn't around, he would have passed a boring ass day listening to a fifteen month old cry and not knowing how to stop it. I also add...idk...color?

I'm not useless, no matter _what _that dickhead says.

He paused at the head of the room and looked around. Shelves flanked the walls and made rows in the middle. Long desks stood in front of him, each packed with kids. The study hall teacher, Mr. Bundy, a fat old Russian Jew, sat in an armchair and leafed through the morning paper. He took a refreshing hands off approach to teaching; guy just did _not _care.

Clyde's favorite table was ahead and around the corner in the room where all the old school microfilm readers were kept. No one ever went in there and he had the place all to himself, which was great for those days he needed to put his head down and nap. He crossed the room, rounded the corner, and went in, coming to a grinding halt when he saw something out of the ordinary.

People.

At his table.

Namely Jordan and Stella. They sat on either side of an empty chair, facing each other and whispering animatedly. Jordan sensed him, turned, and flinched. "H-Hey, Clyde," she said. Stella froze, then spun around to face the table, one hand going up to worry at her black hair. Jordan, hand gripping the back of her chair, looked at him with a toothy beam that looked forced, like she was trying to hide her nerves.

The smokey mist in her eyes was oddly familiar.

It reminded him of Cookie.

"Hey," he said, "uh...surprised to see you here."

Jordan propped her elbow on the table and shoved her fingers into her hair. "We wanted to keep you company. Right, Stell?"

When Stella didn't reply, she leaned over. "Help me out here," she hissed.

"Yeah," Stella said, "we wanted to, uh, be with you. I mean...hang out with you."

Well, that worked out, since he wanted to talk to them. "Cool," he said, "it gets kind of lonely back here." He said that like it was a bad thing, but it wasn't. Lonely was good. No one can hurt you when you're lonely.

Except yourself.

"Great," Jordan said and patted the empty chair between her and Stella, "come on over."

Clyde went to the chair, pulled it out, and sat down. Jordan scooted closer, and Stella followed suit, her leg brushing Clyde's. He spared it a reflexive glimpse and swallowed; the hem of her skirt rested above her knees, and something about them was...umf. Smooth. Caramel. Probably warm.

Shoving that aside, he turned to Jordan. She regarded him with a dreamy smile, her elbow on the edge of the table once more and her index finger swirling in her honey blonde hair. His eyes were drawn inexorably to her chest. Her tiny breasts pushed out the yellow fabric of her shirt just enough to be noticable. He'd never looked at her that way, but suddenly he found himself wondering what they looked like...and what they felt like. Soft, he reckoned, and _hot_, quivering with the gentle pounding of her excited heart. He envisioned her throwing her head back and arching her back forward as he slowly kneaded her erect nipples with his thumbs, her fingertips caressing his knuckles, her throat working, chest rising and falling, gasping for breath, panting, moaning his name.

His dick twitched and his stomach lurched sickly.

"I, uh, I kind of need to talk to you about something," he said.

"What?" Jordan asked.

He considered his reply for a moment, then jumped in. "Well, you guys, and C-Cookie, have been acting a little...strange...today."

At the mention of Cookie's name, Jordan's features hardened, her loathing so venomous Clyde was sure he'd fall over dead. "Cookie's a bitch," Jordan said. "Right, Stell?"

Clyde turned to Stella, interested in what she had to say. She and Cookie were best friends and had been since Stella moved to Royal Woods. Her thoughts, and words, carried more weight on the matter than anyone else's. "Yeah, she is," she said.

"She's just using you," Jordan said, and a sharp blade sliced through his stomach. "She wants...nevermind what she wants. She's just not serious about being your girlfriend."

She wasn't?

He couldn't say he was surprised, but...wow, that really hurts. It felt the way he imagined being eviscerated by a dull, blunted machete did. He bowed his head and took a deep breath. He knew it was too good to be true. A girl? Like _him? _He was an idiot to think for even a second that a girl would be interested in him. Lori wasn't, Lynn wasn't...no one was.

And why would they be? Dahmer was right. He was useless, added nothing, and his nose bleeds were nasty af. All he did was tag along in Lincoln's life, then go home and sit in the crashing silence of his parents' home and twiddle his thumbs until the writers of the show needed a clown for comic relief. Hey, Lincoln just got some bad news, let's bring Clyde in and have him start gushing blood like a lawn sprinkler. Nothing funnier than a dorky mosshead bleeding and suffering, right, guys? Oh, oh, oh, I got it...this time, let's make him believe this cute girl's into him...then rip it away! Hahahaha, take _that, _nigger!

Wow. He really close to crying now.

He took another deep breath and blinked back stinging tears. When Jordan laid her hand on his leg, he glanced at her. Her face hovered inches from his own, her eyes soft with concern and her lips arranged in a serious, almost pained frown. Her face was scarlet and her breathing came in quick, rapid bursts; something about her made his stomach roll and his heart palpitate a jagged rhythm. "But I am," she said.

Only when his nose touched hers did he realize they'd been drawing closer, pulled together as if by a force outside of themselves. Their breaths mingled, and the sweet scent of her essence steeped Clyde's senses, kicking his heart into overdrive.

They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, then Jordan closed in and urgently molded her lips to his. Clyde's heart completely stopped and for a second neither of them continued, neither knowing _how_. Then Jordan flicked her tongue into his mouth and he instinctively stroked it with his, the warm taste of her saliva flooding his mouth like an aphrodisiac. She dug her fingers into his leg as if to keep from being blown away by the strange and exhilarating new sensations in her heart and body, and Clyde was vaguely aware of cupping her cheek in his hand. Their tongues lapped and swirled around one another like two unsure dancers, each exploring the inside of the other's mouth with fumbling uncertainty. Clyde's dick throbbed against the inseam of his jeans with every sickly blast of his heart, and his lungs burst for air, drawing Jordan's breath in and making him even drunker on her kiss.

He clumsily took her face in both hands and slipped his fingers into her hair, his thumbs making light, unconscious circles in her cheekbones. All rational thoughts fled away, and dumb animal passion took their place. He tilted his head from side to side, drinking in every corner and crease of her mouth, his fevered frame beginning to tremble. Jordan broke from his lips and leaned her head slightly back like a woman basking in the falling rays of the sun, her eyes closed and a blissful expression lit upon her features. Clyde mindlessly kissed her chin, then her lips; soft, downy, unlike anything he had ever known. Jordan kissed him again, her hands laying flat on his chest, and his heart beat crazily against her shaky palm.

When they pulled apart, they were both panting and blushing furiously, their mouths hanging open and a mixture of their saliva dripping down their lips. A dazed, unfocused look filled Jordan's eyes and she swayed intoxicatedly from one side to the other. For his part, Clyde was so dizzy he nearly fell out of his chair, and only saved himself at the last minute. Jordan let out a musical giggle and lowered her gaze. Clyde realized he was still holding her face, and let his hands fall to his lap - only they landed on Jordan's bare knees instead. Whoops. Better move them again.

The smooth touch of her skin, however, like velvet beneath his quaking palms, was too beautiful and right to let go of. "I really like you, Clyde," she said earnestly, and lifted her eyes to his. In them, he saw genuine devotion, and his heart sputtered.

She meant it. He may not have been able to read Cookie very well, but Jordan's sincerity was obvious.

"Stella likes you too," she said.

Clyde's forehead wrinkled, and he turned to Stella. Her face was completely red and her eyes wide with titillated shock; she, too, took great, ragged breaths, as though what she'd just seen _really _turned her on. Her brown eyes were muddled with a distant haze much like Jordan's, and she held her bottom lip between her teeth like she was afraid it would float away.

She liked him too? Wow, well, that kind of presented a problem, since…

"Kiss him, Stell," Jordan said, and Stella's blush burned even brighter.

Wait, what? He looked at Jordan, and seeing the question in his eyes, she shrugged one shoulder. "We both like you, and instead of fighting, we decided to share you." She smiled widely, pearly whites on full display. "If you don't mind," she added.

Clyde tried to speak, but words wouldn't form. They wanted to..to share him? He hadn't even wrapped his head around having one girlfriend, much less two. "Uhhhh…" what should he say? Yes? No? He studied the Asian girl for what might as well have been the very first time. Like Jordan, she was tall and slim, her black hair fell past the gentle slope of her shoulders, and neat bangs reached nearly to her shimmering, almond shaped eyes. Her flaxen skin was clear save for freckles and a tiny pimple nestled close to one nostril. She smiled weakly, and Clyde returned it.

"Go on," Jordan said, "kiss him."

Stella looked strickenly from her to Clyde, anxious fear creeping into her eyes. Clyde's gaze went to her thin lips, and hers to his, two animals circling each other in the wild. She looked timid, afraid, and Clyde wanted nothing more in that moment than to reassure her. "Y-You don't have to," he said, "if you don't want."

The fear intensified. "No, no, I _do _want, I'm just...really nervous." She uttered a humorless laugh as if to punctuate her point. "I've never done that before."

Fair. "Well...neither have I...except just now. It, uh...it comes natural, I guess." As he spoke, the desire to throw caution to the wind and kiss her grew.

She darted her eyes demurely to her lap, and Clyde hesitated, then took her hand. She stiffened and sucked a sharp intake of breath. "It's okay, I mean...I won't judge you or anything. For not being very good. I'm not either. I think."

He looked at Jordan for an opinion, and she smile dreamily. "I liked it."

Stella took a deep breath as if amping herself up, then nodded resolutely. "A-Alright," she said, "I guess I just…" she clasped her hands to her knees, closed her eyes, and leaned forward at the waist, her neck craning and her lips puckering cutely. Wow, and I was worried _I _looked silly.

"Go on," Jordan said huskily and laid her hands on his shoulders. She brushed her lips across his ear, and her hot breath made his skin prick. "Kiss her." She kneaded his skin like a playful kitten and placed a wet, sensuous kiss on his neck. "Make it romantic for her."

He looked to Stella. She waited patiently with her eyes closed, an air of shy, girlish innocence about her that made his throat tight and his pants even tighter.

Leaning in to meet her, he held her cheek in his hand and pressed his lips to hers. She went rigid when he touched her and her eyes shot open. Their gazes locked, and Clyde swiped his tongue across her mouth, inducing her to let him in. Her lips parted slightly, and he kissed her deeply. A violent tremor tore through her body and she gasped audibly. He flicked his tongue against hers, and coming alive, she kissed him back, slow and halting, like a girl testing water and not wholly sure she liked the temperature. He ran his hands down the sides of her graceful throat, and she shook harder, her tongue working faster now and her hands braced on the tops of his thighs. Jordan kissed his neck again and rubbed wide, lazy circles in his back. Her humid breaths puffed against his skin; she was losing herself to ardor, lust fogging her brain, and Clyde was too.

Stella moaned into his mouth and leaned insistently into his lips. Her hands somehow slid under his shirt, and when her bare skin touched his, his back spasmodically arched. His erection slammed into the rough fabric of his jeans, crying out for release. Jordan slipped her hands beneath his shirt too, her nails lightly grazing his back and her lips pecking his neck, his earlobe, his cheek.

Panting, Stella came up for air, and he instantly turned to Jordan, kissing her over his shoulder; he couldn't reach her lips, but their tongues met, lashing each other like professional wrestlers in a fight to the death. Stella watched with a wild, frenzied look in her eye, like a shark who's tasted blood and won't stop until it has more. Clyde turned in his chair so that his body was facing the table, and his lips fused with Jordan's. She pushed his shirt up to his chest and skimmed her hand over his stomach, sending shivers down his spine. Stella bent as far forward as she could, laid one hand on his thigh - dangerously close to his center - and kissed his side, her lips sizzling wetly on his flesh. Jordan's hand fell on his other leg, her pinkie brushing the bulge between his thighs and streaks of spine tingling sensation shot through his middle. Clyde threw his head back as Jordan and Stella both assaulted his chest and stomach with frantic kisses; his body smoldered like a bed of bed of embers, and every touch raked him into a blistering vortex. His back arched, his breath sputtered, a broken moan escaped his constricted throat; Jordan kissed his stomach and traced the outline of his erection through his pants, light and tentative at first, with adolescent diffidence, then bolder, squeezing, giggling against his skin at the way he convulsed. He slid down in the chair a little as though he were melting, and Jordan gave his dick another loving squeeze. Her muddled eyes watched his face with girlish curiosity, her teeth bit her lower lip, and the corners of her mouth sharpened in satisfaction as his features rippled and contorted in pleasure.

Stella kissed from his navel to his nipple, her lips leaving a molten trail of saliva in their wake. Her movements were quick and desperate, a girl sliding on ice and giving into the inevitable fall. Her hand accidentally bumped his straining erection and came to rest demurely on the inside of his thigh. Jordan laid her hand on top of the Asian girl's and absently guided it home; together, they worked his aching member like two sultry bakers shaping a ball of dough, their fingertips massaging, palm heels petting. One of them reached his lips and they kissed; he was too disoriented to know who it was, and he didn't care; their tongues whipped and lashed with wild need, their teeth knocking and scraping in their abandon. The other formed her lips to his cheek, and he turned to her, kissing her deeply. His hips rocked inarticulately against their working hands, his dick so hard it literally hurt. He kissed one mouth, then another, his mind gone, his senses overwhelmed by feeling, and by the dense, fragrant musk of two very excited girls. They nestled against each side of his body, warm, silky weight, and kissed his skin, their hands rubbing faster over his tightening dick, one touch firm, the other light, long strokes teasing him closer and closer to the edge. He leaked furiously into his underwear and his twitching shaft burned like a steel rod in the heart of a fire; hot, glowing, painful but pleasurable too.

His stomach clutched in fear at the horror of premature ejaculation, and he gritted his teeth; he regulated his breathing and tired to calm himself, but the sensory overload was too much. He was going to cum whether he wanted to or not.

He attempted to speak, to tell them to stop, but it came out as a breathy moan instead. He looked down and swallowed thickly; Jordan and Stella both stared up at him with sinful smirks, their chins resting on his chest and their hands caressing him in clumsy unison. Their eyes sparkled with mischief and their cheeks blazed fire engine red. Maybe he was seeing them through a prism of altered consciousness, but they were the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen in his life; Lori and Cookie were _nothing _compared to them.

A shudder crackled along his spine and his heart seized as his load rushed up from deep in the pit of his soul. He made one final effort to stop it, but nature was stronger; his eyes narrowed, his heart jolted, and his climax hit him like a speeding car (_O'Doyle rules!_). His dick expanded, then, with a world ending release, it spurted, liquid fire pumping into his underwear. His hips jerked, his back arched like a convict being filled with 50,000 volts, and a heedless cry dislodged from his throat. Jordan's lips parted and her eyes glimmered with keen adoration, and Stella's breath hitched. Beneath their hands, Clyde's dick trembled and writhed, his creamy seed soaking through cotton and denim, wet, thick, hot. They watched his face, enraptured, each one panting and pressing her legs together, seeping cores pinching and screaming for penetration. Neither had seen a boy cum before and both were staggered by the beauty of its inhibition. Because of them, he shook and thrashed in ecstasy, his self-control and restraint surrendered. They were seeing him as no one else ever had, in a flustered state of open vulnerability, and that knowledge made Jordan whine in the back of her throat and Stella light-headed.

Clyde's thrusting ceased, and he stilled, save for his heaving chest. Head flopped back, glasses askew, crotch heavy and damp with his orgasm, he stared woozily up at the ceiling and caught his breath. His befuddled brain gradually cleared and his senses returned. A bemused smile spread across his lips and he let out a rusty chuckle.

Wow. D-Did that just happen?

He looked down at Stella and Jordan to confirm that they were still there, and that he wasn't hallucinating the whole thing. They were, their soft, tiny breasts smooshed against his chest and their hands resting between his legs. Jordan gave him a devilish grin and Stella kissed his stomach. "How was _that?" _Jordan asked proudly.

"This is the single greatest day of my life."

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. He, Stella, and Jordan looked...and paled.

"I knew I'd nail your ass eventually, McBride," Principal Dahmer said.

Clyde's heart sank into his stomach.

The tall man flicked his steely eyes between Stella and Jordan. "I didn't think I'd take you two down as well, but the more the merrier. Get in my office. Now." He paused. "After cleaning yourselves up."

Clyde, Jordan, and Stella followed Dahmer out like a somber funeral procession trailing behind a coffin, their heads hung in shame. Jordan caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and looked up. Cookie leaned out from behind a shelf, a hateful smile on her lips. She lifted her hand, palm facing out, then, with a flourish, turned it and extended her middle finger.

Jordan knew the little brunette was capable of going low, but not _this _low. Her lips peeled back from her teeth and her fists balled. _You're dead, snitch, _she mouthed.

Cookie preened. "Have fun being expelled~" she called.

That blunted Jordan's rage.

Oh, man, her parents were gonna be so mad.

She remembered Clyde's face when he popped, and the salty taste of his skin, his kiss, the feeling of him pumping against her hand.

Despite herself, she smiled.


	5. Horny and Alone

Howard McBride crossed his arms over his scrawny chest and pursed his lips. His clear eyes seethed with motherly outrage, and Clyde chafed under their gaze. Tall, thin, and clad in a silky pink robe, he wasn't the biggest or manliest, but somehow he managed to still be the most imposing figure Clyde had ever faced. "I am _very _disappointed in you, young man," he said in a biting rush.

They were in Clyde's room, Clyde sitting on the edge of the bed with his head hanged contritely and Howard looming over him. Harold stood beside his husband, his arms at his sides, and looked uncomfortable. The bedside lamp cast the scene in a warm, ambient glow that clashed with the drama presently unfolding.

Clyde had been in here, alone and waiting in dark suspense for his fathers to come, since he got home that afternoon. The car ride from school was the most awkward of his life. Harold gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead while Howard sat in the passenger seat with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, his normally delicate features sharp and hard. _I ought to expel your son, _Principal Dahmer had said over the icy tundra of his desk, _but I'll let him go with a week's suspension. This time. Cross me again, McBride, and you'll be in the alternative school in Chippewa so fast your head'll spin. _Jordan and Stella were both suspended for a week too. When Dahmer called him in, Clyde passed Stella sitting in a chair in the outer office, hugging herself and ducking her head defensively as a tiny Asian woman in big glasses stood over her, yammering angrily and wagging her finger.

_Bạn đã mang lại sự xấu hổ lớn cho gia đình của bạn. Bạn chỉ có thể quan hệ tình dục khi bạn đã trưởng thành và kết hôn với một người chồng thành đạt. Bạn không phải là một người trưởng thành, cậu bé đó có vẻ như sẽ không bao giờ đạt được bất cứ điều gì. Anh ta có vẻ như sẽ đánh cắp chiếc xe đạp của bạn và sau đó biến bạn thành một bà mẹ đơn thân. Giống như tất cả đàn ông da đen._

Clyde didn't speak Vietnamese, but the woman's tone itself was enough to strike terror into his heart. Stella glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and he flashed a pallid but hopefully encouraging smile.

She didn't return it.

Jordan's parents hadn't arrived yet, and as he went in, he looked at her. Her lips turned slyly up and she winked.

He winked back.

Now, Clyde stared at his feet, chastised, and blinked back tears. Being scolded didn't bother him - he'd been reamed out justly and unjustly a million times in his short life - but being scolded by someone he loved downright _hurt. _

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Howard demanded.

Good question. That he was sorry? He was...but only for getting caught, not for what he, Jordan, and Stella did, or even for doing it in school. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. It wasn't a lie, really, more like a half-truth, so that made it better, right?

"You are _far _too young for that kind of…" Howard searched for an appropriate word, "activity." His lips puckered sourly at the implication of _activity_. "And during school hours, too. I am shocked that you would do this, simply shocked."

Clyde's chest ached and his eyes filled with water. He hated making his dads mad because even though they swore they loved him, he always worried that _this _would be the final straw, and they would take him back to the group home. _Here, have your problem child. We'll just get another cat. _On some level he knew that was unfair - they'd been nothing but wonderful parents - and that doubt, like a betrayal of the men who took him into their home and treated him like their own child, made him feel even worse. He knew, as best he could, that they wouldn't just kick him aside, but that didn't alleviate the bubbling dread in his stomach. Howard sounded _mad_, and maybe this was it...maybe tomorrow they'd pack him and all of his worldly possessions into the car and drop him off on a distant doorstep.

Just like his real parents did.

A steely band closed around his heart and breathing was suddenly hard. "You're useless and add nothing, Clyde," Howard said. A burst of tingling, gnashing horror detonated in Clyde's stomach, and he looked up at his father. "You're just Lincoln's pet nigger," the white man said, but his lips did not move.

"It's true, son," Harold added without opening his mouth. "And tomorrow, you're going back to the home. Pack all the detris we regret buying you and enjoy your last night here."

Clyde _knew _he was having an episode, but that didn't dull the hysteria welling inside of him. He started to hyperventilate and forced himself to breathe normally lest they see. "Look at him," Howard snipped, "going into another fit. I am _so _tired of this. I wish we'd known what a sad, broken little boy he was when we adopted him."

"It was a mistake," Harold agreed.

"You are grounded for the rest of the month, mister," Howard said.

"Not that anyone will miss you," Harold added.

Howard laughed harshly. "It'll explain why he's not around for the next ten episodes."

"Do you understand me?" Howard asked.

He and Harold both laughed and laughed and laughed, and Clyde squeezed his eyes closed against wounded tears. It's not real, they wouldn't say that, they love me and they won't send me back. T-They promised.

"Well?" Howard pressed. Clyde blinked again and looked up at the white man, the edges of the world blurred. Howard's brows were lifted sternly, his gaze challenging.

Clyde didn't know where what his father really said ended and where what he didn't say began. Something about being grounded. That was probably real. "Yeah," muttered and returned his attention to the floor.

"No television, no video games, and no comic books."

Each one of those hit Clyde harder than the last, but not as hard as his father's tone.

"I _was _going to make it two months, but your father talked me out of it." Howard shot Harold a tight-lipped glare, then whipped his head away with a _humph _when Harold offered a disarming smile. Howard took a deep breath through his nose, then let it out slowly. "We both love you very much, but that kind of behavior is simply not acceptable from a boy your age. You should be holding hands, not…" he shook his head from side to side as he grasped for words "...private parts."

To be fair, he didn't touch Jordan or Stella's private parts, but he wished he did. He _so _wished he did.

"I want you to sit here and think about what you've done," Howard continued. He put on hand on his hip and favored Clyde with something akin to sorrow - a mother regarding her beloved but wayward son. "You can come out to eat, play with Cleopawtra, and to socialize for _one _hour a day." He held up his index finger for emphasis. "And don't think that just because you aren't in school, you'll be kicking around the house all willy nilly. I talked to Lincoln's mother, and he will be bringing your assignments here every single afternoon until your keister is back in class."

Aw, man. Being the kind of guy to turn lemons into lemonade, he was really looking forward to at least not having to do any work this week.

"Is that understood?"

Cyde nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Howard leaned forward and pecked him on the forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Howard stood up straight and tightened the robe sash around his waist. "I am taking a bubble bath, then going to bed," he stated. With one final glance at Clyde, he turned and swished out of the room.

Sighing, Clyde waited for Harold to have his say. The air between them was thick with tension, and Clyde could sense him fumbling to come up with a piece of sage fatherly advice. Of his parents, Harold was the calmer and more even-tempered one. He considered every matter set before him with careful deliberation, turning it over and approaching it from every possible angle, searching for and ultimately finding each perspective, point of view, and probable outcome before rendering judgement. He was a fair man, but firm, and when he spoke, it came from the heart _and _the brain.

He reached out and laid his hand on Clyde's shoulder. Clyde looked up at him, and his face was an even mask of neutral sobriety. "Your father's absolutely right, son."

Then he grinned, taking Clyde aback. "But still, two at once." He chuckled wistfully and shook his head. "I'm proud of you."

"Uh...thanks," Clyde said falteringly.

Harold nodded and took a deep breath. Here comes the _actual _commentary. "I understand what it's like to be...a boy of your age. I would like to say I never did anything that young, but I can't. Puberty is a difficult time for a child. Your hormones rage and sometimes its like being eaten alive from the inside out." He sat down next to Clyde with a weary sound, and the mattress dipped beneath his weight. Balling his hands in his lap, he went on, and Clyde listened. "One thing I didn't understand when I was a kid was just how quickly it's over. Right now, every day seems to last forever and three years ago...might as well be ancient history. You might not think so, but it goes fast, and one day soon, you'll be a grown man with a family and a career, and there will be times that you look back on right now, this very moment, and wish you were there again, even if for only a day." He stopped and allowed Clyde a moment to imbile his words. What did that have to do with getting some ass?

"What I'm saying," he went on, "is that sex is a very serious thing. It isn't something you go into lightly. A sexual relationship is perhaps the hardest in all human discourse, because of the attendant emotions that go along with it. Sex is a special thing, and having it with someone binds you to them in a way you will never be bound to anyone else. When a woman, or a man, lets you into their body, they are, even if they don't know it, putting every ounce of trust they have into _you. _Many people are flippant when it comes to sex and see it as a purely biological function, but it's more than that. A woman, at least an average woman, does not open her legs for just anyone. She does it for someone she feels very strongly for, and that someone bears a burden of responsibility to her."

He paused and collected his thoughts. One of his worse habits, Clyde had come to know, was rambling; his thoughts often meandered from the path and wound up lost in the woods. "She's giving you something precious...something sacred...and while that is, tangibly, her body, it is metaphorically her heart. That type of relationship is a very adult one. Children your age feel the call of nature very keenly, but while your bodies may be ready, your hearts and your minds are not. Very few people last very long with the boyfriend or girlfriend they have at twelve or thirteen or even sixteen. People change over time. Kids are like caterpillars in a chrysalis that way. You don't know until much later who you are going to be, or who the girl or boy you love is going to be. To put it simply, sexual relationships are messy and many adults find them difficult to maintain. A boy your age just isn't ready. You're still a kid and you should be spending right now enjoying that, not rushing to grow up."

He patted Clyde's leg affectionately. "If someone sat me down and told me this at your age, I probably wouldn't have listened. You're a good boy, Clyde, but things _do_ happen." He reached into his pocket and took something out. "If it does, promise me you'll use this." He held it out and Clyde took it with a quizzical brow arch. A small, square package with a circular outline in the middle.

"That's a condom," Harold explained. "You've heard of them, right?"

Clyde nodded rustily, his face burning with awkward shame. "Yeah. Health class."

"I'm not encouraging it, but if it does happen, be safe. Your father and I want grandchildren, but not right now, We're too young and handsome for all that." He smiled warmly and nudged Clyde's hip to show he was joking. He got to his feet and sighed. "Get some sleep and think about what I said, okay?"

"Okay," Clyde promised.

"I love you, son."

"Love you too, Dad."

Harold went out into the hall and pulled the door softly shut behind him. Alone, Clyde studied the condom, then flopped back on his bed with a deep exhalation. His father's words rattled around his head like loose ball bearing in a drum, and he fought very hard to concentrate on them. He didn't have sex with either Stella or Jordan, but he couldn't pretend that he didn't want to. If Principal Dahmer hadn't come in, who knows what would have happened: He might even now be with one or both of them, sequestered in a secret place between two naked girls, their legs hooked over each of his and their hands charting his body just as hungrily as his charted theirs. He recalled their faces looking up at him, eyes hazy and muddled, cheeks red, lips twisted up in naughty, bad girl smiles, and his stomach panged. Sex is a special thing, Harold said, and should only be had by adults...because they understood just what emotions went into it, and what emotions it bred.

He could understand that view, but if he spent too long on the memory of their faces, he would inevitably see himself laying one of them back and fucking her. Harold wanted him to wait, and Clyde wanted to please him. Maybe if the decision was left entirely in his hands, he could resist, but it wasn't. There were Jordan and Stella. They were one chemical, and he another; they were placid on their own, but when combined, there would be a reaction no matter how much you wagged your finger and told the concoction to wait. Unless they stayed away from him, one thing would lead to another, a sly look to a playful touch, a playful touch to a furtive kiss, a furtive kiss to not so playful touches...and he wouldn't be able to fight it, probably wouldn't _want _to fight it.

That was yet another worry for the future. He wouldn't even get to see either one of them for a week, and if he kept thinking about them, he'd drive himself crazy. Think about something else...like the group home. Remember how much it sucked?

No, but I _do_ remember the way Stella's mouth tasted. Umf. Like candy coated goodness.

Oh, it didn't taste like candy, shut up.

It tasted _better _than candy.

And Jordan's lips...wow, they were really soft. You should have nibbled them.

Yeah, he should have done a lot of things. Like touched them the way they touched him. He imagined snaking his hand up Stella's skirt and investigating her girlhood, her eyes narrowing, her chest busting, her face twisting, breathy moans trembling from her quivering lips. How would she feel? Soft, he figured, and hot. When he got really turned on, his dick burned. It stood to reason that a girl would burn too, then she would start to seep the way he leaked, her thin fluids coating his fingers...her body preparing itself for penetration.

He realized he was hard again, and that his breathing was unsteady. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 8:15. What were Jordan and Stella doing right now? Were they thinking of him the way he was thinking of them? Were they mad at him for getting them in trouble? Stella did _not _look happy when he last saw her, but Jordan winked at him, which meant that at least _she _wasn't. He didn't know about Stella. He hoped not.

Drawing a deep breath, he reached for his phone, but remembered that he didn't have it. He didn't have his games, comic books, or laptop, either.

It's gonna be a long night, he thought.

* * *

Six blocks to the west and north, Stella Dinh sat her the desk in the room she shared with her older sister Anita, her legs crossed and one elbow propped on the scuffed surface. Low, muted lamplight cast a comfortable glow across the papers fanned out before her, and cool late summer wind rustled blue curtains. She stared absently out the open window, her fingers threaded through her hair and a thoughtful expression on her face. She'd been trying to focus on her work - complicated mathematical equations as punishment for bringing shame to her family - since after dinner, but her mind kept drifting back to Clyde. Each time it did, her heartbeat quickened and sharp, insistent ripples cut through her middle. The salty tang of his skin lingered in her mouth even now, hours later, and if she stopped and concentrated _really _hard, she could feel the heat of his pumping shaft as it filled his underwear with his cum. The only regret she had, aside from being caught, was that she didn't actually get to see it happen. She had never looked at porn or done anything sexual with anyone before, and thus the mechanics of a boy's orgasm were a vague, half formed mystery to her, one that she _very _much wanted to study further. She sorely wished she had the forethought to unzip his jeans and take it out so she could watch.

She probably wouldn't have been brave enough to do it, though. Touching him through his pants was one thing - a thing she didn't do until Jordan guided her hand - but wrapping her hand around his bare penis? She blushed madly and wetted her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, her eyes darting to the paper directly in front of her. He would have let her...he probably would have let her do anything she wanted...and there was a _lot _she wanted to do. Like mounting him, pinning his wrists to the bed, and kissing his mouth until she trembled, then sliding down his body and, kissing everywhere else: His stomach, his legs, his thing. She'd start at the head and brush her lips along his shaft; let them linger on his blistering skin; draw his scent into her nose; lap it with her tongue...long, smooth strokes from the base to the tip; take it into her mouth and make love to it until he twitched, bowed his back, and came so hard he screamed.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage and her hands shook like a girl with Parkinson's. She took a deep, shivery breath and glanced up at the window again. Her stomach pinched and she swallowed around a lump of hot coals.

That thought - sucking him, touching him, worshiping his dick like a devout Buddhist in a temple of the flesh - was what she kept coming back to. She wanted to do everything with him, all the positions and acts she'd heard and read about, the ones that made her blush and smolder between her legs, but her most powerful and arousing fantasies revolved around touching and tasting his penis. At night, when the house was dark and silent and the desires locked in her adolescent body became too great to ignore any longer, she hiked her nightgown around her hips and teased herself to mental images of herself doing things to a boy. She started by making slow, leisurely circles on her clit, her pace quickening as her skin grew hotter and her breathing heavier, biting her bottom lip to keep from making noise and waking her sister. Then, right before her climax hit, she envisioned herself climbing onto him and jerking down, taking him all the way to her womb. When she imagined his hot cum shooting into her, her muscles locked, her heartbeat sputtered, and her body clenched so hard her vision grayed.

She did her best not to entertain thoughts like that during the day, because she'd devolve into a quaking, absent-minded mess, but it happened more and more as she sank into the depths of puberty. She'd be sitting at the dinner table and somehow wind up so flustered she could barely speak. The pressure betwixt her thighs would build and build to insufferable heights, and the only thing that could relieve it was playing with herself, something she couldn't do until late at night. Her mother was very strict and constantly hovered over her shoulder. Stella liked taking her time with _that, _and she didn't have time before bed; if she was in the shower too long, her mother would pound on the door and yell at her for using too much water; if she slunk off her to room, her mother invariably followed to make sure she wasn't doing anything _wrong. _

And to her mother, wrong was anything that didn't directly contribute to Stella succeeding. She was a demanding woman who pushed all three of her children to the brink of their endurance in the name of excellence. Stella, for her part, met with a private math tutor three afternoons a week and a violin instructor once a week, and on Mondays and Fridays, there was soccer practice. She hated soccer - she wasn't any good at it and the other girls treated her like the dead weight she admittedly was - but her mother insisted that physical fitness went hand-in-hand with mental fitness, so she had no choice but to play.

Her life, therefore, was regimented down to the very second and sometimes her home felt more like a prison. In her melodramatic moments, she imagined herself shackled and bound, yearning to breathe free, and in those ponderings, a boy always had the key to her lock.

Between his legs.

They say it's always the quiet ones, and in her case, she supposed it was true. Like an Asian stereotype molded by another Asian stereotype, she was shy and submissive by nature, the cliched good girl. And like a cliche inside of a cliche and wrapped in another cliche, she was maybe kind of a pervert too.

Mother said everyone needs a creative outlet. For Anita, it was creative writing, for her brother Nguyen, it was graphic design, and for Stella, it was the art of sex.

An art at which she was a novice.

For now.

She thought of Clyde, out there somewhere in the night, and she bit her lip. Just as soon as she could, she would indulge herself in her chosen field like a glutton - she would try everything with him, especially oral sex.

Her only concern was that she wouldn't be very good. Her mother said that to do well at something, you must practice until you are sick, and though Stella complained about Mother's authoritarian approach, the woman wasn't wrong.

Stella had never practiced giving head. She figured, in a roundabout way, that she would practice plenty on her first boyfriend, but after being with Clyde today, she didn't want to fumblingly suck him, she wanted to give him the best blowjob she could, to lick and suck with expert ability.

That meant she needed to practice.

But how?

Her eyes fell on the hairbrush lying next to her lamp. It's long, thick handle kind of looked like…

She forced her attention back to her work and completed three equations before her mind went back to Clyde. Her eyes returned to the hairbrush and she looked around. Anita was downstairs doing her homework in the living room (part of Stella's punishment was being shunned for 24 hours), and she was alone. A vision of Clyde's blushing face and slurry eyes flickered across her mind, and her heartbeat sped up. She _really _wanted to please him when the time came.

And she could only do that by practicing.

Reaching out, she picked up the brush and brought it to her face, her eyes scanning its length. She looked anxiously around once more, then pressed the tip against her lips. She felt really stupid, but she had to practice.

She parted her lips and slid the handle gingerly into her mouth, cool, flavorless plastic scraping her teeth. She wrapped her lips around it, curled her tongue, and licked the underside. She pulled it out again, swirled her tongue around the head, and went down on it once more, her lips molding tightly to it. She pretended it was Clyde and that the lifeless plastic was hot, salty flesh; he moaned and ran his fingers gently through her hair, nails grazing her scalp and sending electric tendrils streaking down her spine. She reached the halfway point and drew back, working it with her tongue and lips, a silvery ribbon of drool dribbling down her chin. Clyde arched his hips instantly, begging her to continue, and she gamely slid him deeper, coating him with her spit, furiously lapping him, pressing her lips tighter, sealing them around his throbbing shaft.

The tip touched the back of her throat, and she gagged. She ripped the brush out and launched into a skull cracking coughing fit. She uncrossed her legs, vaguely aware that she was damp, leaned over the table, and hacked like a fifty year smoker finally passing that troublesome piece of detached lung that had been niggling them all day.

Getting control of herself, she dropped the brush and panted for air. Tangled bangs hung in her eyes; she parted them...and her heart sank. Anita gaped at her in slack-jawed shock. They stared at each other for a moment, Stella frozen, then the older girl spoke. "Wow, you're gross."

Stella's cheeks raged with shame. "It's not what it looks like," she blurted.

"It's _exactly _what it looks like," Anita said, then grinned evilly. "Practicing for your boyfriend?"

"No!"

"Yes," Anita said and lidded her eyes. "Mom says he's black, and you know what they say about black men. He's a lot bigger than that brush. Hope you can distend your jaw."

"That's not what I was doing," Stella said sullenly and turned away; her entire body burned with humiliation.

Anita crossed to her bed, grabbed her iPod from the pillow, and passed behind Stella. "Are you gonna put that in your pussy tonight?" she taunted.

"No," Stella muttered weakly. Then: "Please don't tell Mom."

Anita hummed. "I don't know," she said, a mocking inflection in her voice. "You face fucking your brush is kind of a big deal. As the responsible older sister, I'm obligated -"

"What do you want?" Stella sighed.

"Do my homework for a month," Anita instantly replied.

Stella slumped her shoulders. She hated being blackmailed. "Fine," she said miserably, "deal."

"Okay then, carry on." Anita started to leave, but stopped. "And if you wanna do it right, learn to suppress your gag reflex. Boys don't like it when you go full tuberculosis patient on their dick." She spoke with the confidence of a woman who knew from first hand experience.

When she was gone, Stella buried her face in her hands and hid herself from the world.

Then, later, she went back to work.

But not on her equations.

* * *

_This sucks. _

Jordan Harriman lay across the foot of her bed, arms thrown out on either side and her head hanging over the edge, her French braid dangling like a blonde tail. The desk across the room was upside down, seemingly mounted to the ceiling, and the blood rushing to her brain was starting to make her pleasantly dizzy. Making herself lightheaded was the only thing she had at this point - her mom took away everything else. No computer, no TV, no phone, no comics, she even confiscated her balls. She could only lay here, sit at the desk and twiddle her thumbs, pace like a caged animal, or stare out the window at the darkened backyard.

Some people might be content with idle solitude, but not her. She needed action and activity. Being banished to her room and forced to pretend it was 1965 or something was the absolute worst punishment she could imagine, and gazing at the desk, she sorely wished Mom just spanked her with a belt.

Actually, this was worse than 1965. At least people in 1965 had CDs to listen. Mom didn't even let her have that: She took her iPod and even her alarm clock because it had a built in radio. _You're gonna think about what you did, _her mother said, unknowingly echoing Howard McBride's sentiment from ten blocks away. _Then tomorrow, when I'm at work, you're going to clean the entire house. _

Ugh.

That was the second worst punishment Jordan could think of, but at least it would get her out of her room and doing something.

She sighed and crossed her arms, looking for all the world like a displeased bat at repose. If having nothing to do and cleaning were the two worst punishments, the third worst punishment was being unable to think of anything else besides Clyde. She'd been in her room for two hours, trying and failing to get her mind off of him. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face at the moment he came, and if she lingered on the image, she'd get turned on again.

Like any girl her age, Jordan sometimes touched herself. She didn't like to because it made her feel like a perv, but when you get so pent up you could scream, you gotta do _something _to take the edge off. Thinking about Clyde, recalling the feeling of his skin under her lips and the way his dick strained against her hand, begging to be stroked and petted like an excitable dog, got her so hot that several times she almost shoved her hand down the front of her shorts to relieve the tension in her loins. She would have done it, too, but after having steak, Ramen just doesn't cut it anymore, and today, she came so close to having steak her toes curled. She was like a girl who had seen the top of the mountain, and it was _good_. That day, in the library, her palate matured, and there was no way she could do it herself knowing that less than two miles away, Clyde's big, hot, fricking amazing dick waited.

She was going to save it all for him; denial, she had found, made the eventual release that much better, and at this point, when she finally came, her whole freaking soul would probably come out.

That was easier said than done, though. Her pussy pulsed with every beat of her heart and her nipples quivered each time the fabric of her shirt skimmed across them. She was hot, literally, every inch of her skin sick with fever, but none more so than the spot between her legs. She could _feel _its heat and it was starting to drive her crazy.

Why did stupid Principal Dahmer have to come in and ruin things? If he left them alone, her body wouldn't be torturing her this way. Clyde could have touched her the way she touched him and everything would be aok. Instead, she got cucked and now she was more pent up than she'd ever been in her life. It wouldn't take much to get her off. A few quick flicks of the bean, and ahhhh, heaven. She didn't wanna ring her own bell, damn it, she wanted Clyde to do it for her!

With his tongue.

And ghost his hands lightly over her stomach as he did it. She'd cross her legs around his back in an X and ride his face to the finish line. Ummmm. No, it wouldn't take long _at all. _Then, when he was primed and ready, he could get on top of her and fuck her...in this exact position. If she reached behind her, she could brace her hands against the floor and push into him. She'd be kind of helpless to do anything but let him have his way with her, and though she didn't know why, that was _really _hot. Like, stupid hot. She giggled in the back of her throat and pressed her tacky thighs together, then arched her back slightly, the scrape of her panties on her pussy making her breath catch.

If only Principal Dahmer didn't come in.

She closed her eyes and saw herself, Stella, and Clyde, Clyde flopped back in the chair and her and Stella laying against his chest. In real life, she asked him how he liked it or something dorky like that (she couldn't really remember), but here, she swung her leg over him and shifted into his lap. His bulge prodded her through her shorts, and desire flared through her like a roaring inferno. She threw her arms around his neck and frantically grinded his hard-on, the friction filling her with raging sensation. He put his hands on her hips and moved in time with her; she buried her face in the crook of his neck and went faster, her eyes narrowing as every atom in her body rushed to her depths, her end growing bigger, hotter, stronger, and when it finally burst...

Coming back to reality, she realized she was rubbing her legs briskly together and petting her center through her shorts; dry throat, flushed skin, quivering knees. Yeah, screw waiting. She sat up, spun on her butt, and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She got up, went to the door, and locked it. On her way back to bed, she hooked one thumb into her shorts and hurriedly pulled them down, along with her underwear. She kicked them aside and, in only her shirt and socks, bounced onto the bed. She laid back against her pillow, spread her legs in an M, and slipped her middle finger between her swollen lips. Heat rolled from her sex in waves and her fluid stung. She found her clit, shifted, and started to rub in quick, needy circles. She bit her bottom lip, fluttered her eyelids, and purred.

It felt amazing, but knowing she could be having Clyde instead cast a pall over it. She sighed and turned her head to one side, the pillow caressing her cheek. It was blue with a raised fringe around the edges that -

An idea struck her.

Sitting up, she got onto her knees, grabbed the pillow, and dropped it in front of her. She turned it on its side, the fringe facing up, then she crawled onto it, her lips brushing the material and parting in anticipation. She shifted until the fringe was between them, then leaned back, knees planted in the bed and one hand splayed behind her. The fringe scraped her boiling core, and already panting, she rocked her hips, sliding her body along the ridge. She threw her head back and sighed, whorls of pleasure exploding through her and tearing ragged breaths from her throat. She rocked faster, increasing her speed by degrees, the fringe scraping her clit and her opening. When the feelings became too great, she laid her hands on either side of it, hanged her head, and forced herself to go faster still. Her chest heaved, her arms shook, and mouth dropped open in a perfect O of dumb, unrestrained ardor.

Suddenly, her entire being clutched, and her orgasm shot up from her center like a scalding geyser. She spasmed violently and grabbed handfuls of the blanket to keep herself from falling. Her mind blanked out and for a while, she floated on tides nirvana, crackles and toms riddling her like muzzle flashes in the night.

She came down slowly and allowed herself to topple over. She took the pillow in her arms and held it to her chest, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips. She hummed and, pretending it was Clyde, gave it a tender kiss. "I love you," she said.

Then, still smiling, she dropped into contented sleep.

* * *

Everyone makes mistakes, even the most perfect among us. The Bible never tells us that Jesus slipped on a rocked and busted his ass, but it probably happened at least once in his life. That was cold comfort to Cookie Milford, however, for at least you can pass slipping on a rock as an act of God, totally out of your control. For not having Clyde McBride in her bed, the blame rested entirely with her. When she walked into the library that afternoon, she expected to find Clyde alone, like he was everyday. She expected to sit next to him, hold his hand, then jack him off under the table. Expectation is sometimes a lot different from reality; instead of her man being alone, those sluts Jordan and Stella were _all _up on him, kissing him, touching him, looking at him with heart-shaped eyes. She came to a grinding halt in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock, and for what could have been five seconds or five minutes, the world stood still.

Had she just been angry, she would have marched herself right in there and yelled at them, or even hit them, but she wasn't _just _mad.

She was hurt, too.

Seeing them doing that, and seeing him _enjoy _it, was like having an icicle shoved into her stomach, or like being punched square in the heart. She watched, breathless, then something peculiar happened.

Hot, stinging tears filled her eyes.

Rather than go in there and confront her transgressors as the Milford notions of honor and dignity dictated, she turned and fled, her chin tucked against her chest to conceal her pain from the world. She never cried unless it was to help in getting her way from Daddy, but she cried then, she cried _bitterly_.

_Then _the fury set in.

Her parents taught her to never let a slight pass without retribution - when one's pride is on the line, _anything _is fair - and as she stumbled through the halls of Firwood Elementary, liquid agony streaming down her cheeks, she resolved to get Stella and Jordan _good. _

By sheer happenstance, she bumped into Principal Dahmer. Literally; her brimming eyes were pointed at the floor and she wasn't watching where she was going. _Excuse me, Ms. Milford, _he said, his disdain evident from the tightness in his voice. Cookie's family was rich, and if he messed with her the way he did with the other kids, Daddy would see to it that he became principal of the unemployment line. Her first instinct was to brush past him, go to the girl's room, and plot her revenge in peace...but then it struck her. Signs from God don't come very often, and it's easy to miss them when they do. Here, gift wrapped with a pretty bow, was her vengeance.

Putting on her most panic-stricken face, she looked up at him and grabbed the cuff of his coat. _Mr., Jordan and Stela are doing something really dirty in the library._

_What?_

_Sex stuff._

Dahmer's eyes narrowed to predatory slits. _Let's roll. _

One of Cookie's very few flaws was not thinking ahead. She did things when the spirit took her with little consideration for the future. Normally, things had a way of working out (most problems go away when you throw enough money at them), but this time, she really fucked herself over. She was so blinded by her desire to exact her revenge on Jordan and Stella, she didn't stop to think that Clyde would get in trouble too. That fact didn't sink in until later on, when, during class change, she was passing the office and saw Clyde being lead out the front door by his parents. The white one looked _pissed, _and the black one looked dazed, like he just watched two trains collide and a bunch of people die. It was the downtrodden expression on Clyde's face that really drove it home: He reminded her of a boy who lost everything and was trying his best to be brave. Her heart jumped and her hand went to her mouth.

What the fuck did I do?

She wandered through the rest of the day in a state of dread, and when the bell rang at 3, she dragged herself out the side doors like a shell-shocked refugee. Of everything you could have done, Cookie, you ratted, good job. They probably expelled him.

Her stomach crumpled like a tin can, and cold, quiet horror flooded her chest. She came to a shuffling halt and doubled over, hugging her books to her breast and taking deep, slow breaths. The only guy you've ever been into...and you practically killed him.

She didn't mean to, though! It wasn't her fault, she just got caught up in the moment. Jordan and that turncoat cunt Stella were begging for it..kissing his bare, smooth chest, running their fingers over his firm stomach and his fucking amazing dick...bitches. They deserved a lot more than what they got.

But Clyde didn't.

You're a fucking dumbass, Cookie. You suck.

Yeah...she did. She could have put a metaphorical bullet into he back of Jordan and Stella's head, quick, clean, and silent, but instead she opened up with a fucking AK and hit the boy she liked too.

No matter what she said, it _was _her fault, and if Clyde never came back to school and she died a virgin because she was surrounded by unsuitable pussys and soyboys like Lincoln Loud and Rusty Spokes, she had no one to blame but herself.

She drew a deep breath and let it out. Hopefully they just suspended him.

Alfred, her family's butler, waited at the curb in a black 1954 Rolls Royce, and as she passed, he rolled down the driver side window, a severe man with iron gray hair and a sharp profile. He wore a cap and black driving gloves, his hands curled around the wheel at a carefully calculated 10 and 2. "I feel like walking today," she mumbled.

"Very well."

She hanged her head and trudged the two miles home with her head down and nervous energy flowing through her. She'd talk to Principal Dahmer tomorrow and see if Clyde was expelled. If he was, she could threaten to lie about him unless he let Clyde back. Hmmm. Maybe she'd #MeToo his ass. _That big, bad, awful man touched me where I pee, take him to jail! _They'd believe her over him anyday. Not only was she a girl, she came from a rich family. Who was _he? _Humph, loser probably only has one vacation home. She had _five_. Take that, fag.

An hour after setting out, she reached her house. Situated on a shaded side street in the Royal Hills neighborhood, it looked more like a castle than a private residence - rough stonework covered in creeping ivy, slotted windows, turrets, and a tower with a pitched roof. That, naturally, was where her room was, the bedchambers of a princess in a fairytale. It had a fucking awesome view and was separated from the rest of the house by a spiral staircase and a long hall that only the servants used, which afforded her maximum privacy. Of all the luxuries she enjoyed, she liked privacy the most.

If she was a princess, the only thing she was missing was a manly prince to drill her into the mattress and help her see just how far noise traveled down that hallway.

Following the flagstone walk, she went inside, closed the door behind her, and sat her books on the foyer end table (pronounced foy-aaaa, only poor people called it a foy_er_). She slipped her jacket off, hung it up, and carried her books to a tall, ornately carved door. Beyond, the corridor to the bottom of her stairs opened up, closed doors lining its distance. She went to the steps, bathed in sunlight streaming through rectangular windows, and climbed to the top. In her room, she flung the door closed, crossed to her canopy bed, and threw herself on, her arms flying out on either side of her and her brown hair pooling around her head like a dirty halo. She sighed, kicked out of her shoes, then lay still, her troubled eyes aimed at the pink satin stretched out above her.

The sound of nothing at all assaulted her ears and the crashing sense of loneliness that she'd grown used to grabbed her like a fist around her throat. A keen edge of disappointment sliced through her stomach and she exhaled deeply. If she wasn't so fucking retarded, she could have brought Clyde here, and right now, they could be be undressing each other and tongue fucking like porn stars.

But she _was _retarded, which is why she didn't have her man.

What should she have done, though? Just stand there and let Stella and Jordan take him away from her? She'd never liked a boy the way she did Clyde, and of _course _those two skanks had to like him too. Stella was probably just copying her like she always did, and Jordan didn't even feel anything until they pointed out how hot what he did was. She was the first, and by all rights, he should be hers. If she couldn't have him, then no one could. We're _all _going to be horny and alone tonight.

If she knew where Clyde lived, she'd sneak into his room and spend the night with him - neither her parents nor the help would miss her - but she didn't. Too bad. He could fuck her fast and hard. She liked fast and hard. Well. she didn't know for certain whether or not she did, but she was pretty sure she would; when she used her vibrator, she _really _fucking slammed it in. Oof. Sometimes she did it so rough she walked funny the next day, and sitting down hurt. She tried doing that to her butt once but she wound up having to go slow.

Lame.

She didn't like things in her butt as much as she thought she might, but she fucking _loved_ everything else she had ever tried, like autoerotic asphyxiation; that's where you tie something around your throat and choke yourself while you jill off. It made your orgasm ten times stronger. It was really easy to die, though...but that just added to the excitement. Something about the idea of cumming at the moment of death was really fucking hot, and she'd totally try it if dying wasn't such a permanent proposition.

Once she and Clyde were acquainted with one another, she wanted to try out domination, with her as the sub. She wasn't the biggest fan of butt stuff, but the thought of having her hands cuffed in front of her while Clyde railed her ass hole, completely at his mercy...his bitch...was di-fucking-vine.

Now she was turned on.

Damn it.

She decided to let herself suffer, both as punishment for her dumb fuck mistake, and because, deep down, she maybe kind of liked to suffer. She rolled onto her side, drew her knees to her chest, and stared at the window overlooking the street. _Is getting laid all you care about? _Jordan asked her. _Pump and dump him like Miss Thang, _Stella said. Fuck them. She was about far more than sex, but you know what, maybe she _did _like sex, and was getting really sick of pretending to be little miss rich girl goody-two-shoes all the time. She didn't resent her parents' wealth of any of that gay shit - she loved being loaded - but the stuffy bullshit culture that goes along with it was fucking hell on earth. Oooo, sit up straight, be prim and proper, ooo your coming out party.

My coming out party's gonna suck just like all my parties suck. Except for the time I was six and wanted a pony...and fucking got a pony. That was badass.

She didn't want to be debutante or whatever the fuck they called it these days, she wanted to see Cradle of Filth in concert, get thrown around the mosh pit like a little piece of trash, wear hooker boots and make fun of fags like Lincoln Loud, get choke out while being rammed, drink beer behind Flip's on a Thursday night, sneak out at night and take a hot load right to the face. She wanted to live a little, goddamn, that's all.

If you weren't such a -

Okay! I get it! I fucked up! I cut my nose off to spite my face. There, happy?

No, she wasn't, she was anything _but _happy. She was upset she got Clyde in trouble, upset because she couldn't be with him, and upset that two other girls liked him...and maybe had a better chance than she did. She wasn't really all _that _pretty, and she could be a _little _abrasive now and then. She'd be a demon in the sack for him, but beyond that, what could she realistically give him? Stella was smart and Jordan was...I can't believe I'm saying this...fun. She was just...meh. Clyde would probably choose them. Hell, maybe he already had.

Now she was fucking depressed. Again. She hugged her knees and gazed at the window, where the light slowly faded and changed, dimming to cool purple, then ashy blue. She needed to get to him somehow...before it was too late. If only she knew where he…

Lincoln!

He knew where Clyde lived!

Tomorrow, she vowed, she was going to corner the Loud boy and drag Clyde's address out even if she had to kill him.

And deep down, she sort of hoped she did.


	6. Almost There

**Guest: Yes. Sex is more than some physical activity just for pleasure.**

The first day was the worst. Confined to his room with nothing to do but think - about Jordan and Stella, about the group home, about all the times he got the feeling he was playing second fiddle to Lincoln - Clyde paced back and forth like a convict in a cell. When the McBrides first adopted him, he was blown away by how _big _his room was. Back at the group home, he shared a tiny walk-in shithole with four other boys, and the unexpected size of his new abode knocked him flat on his ass. Now, trapped in it, he realized something: He was wrong. So, so wrong. And unless he was mistaken, it got smaller every hour, the walls inching closer and closer like the arms of a vise. If Howard didn't let him out soon, they'd close on him and he'd be reduced to a greasy spot on the plaster. Lincoln would replace him with another token black kid. Would the audience hate him as much as it hates me?

Maybe...but maybe not. That would be the most insulting thing ever, being replaced by a clone...a guy who looked like him, talked like him, even liked the same things as him...and everyone loves him. Insulting? No, that would hurt. Like...what's wrong with _me? _Am I really _that _bad? I didn't think I was, but like Patrick said, stupid people are always blissfully unaware of how dumb they really are *drools* The egotist, the weirdo, the smelly kid...they're the last ones to know. _You mean me carrying around a severed head puts people off? Huh. _

Your nose bleeds are gross.

Your dads are more interesting than you.

He started to sink into self-loathing, then he remembered: Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had two girls kissing him, rubbing him, and staring up at him with love in their eyes.

Wow...that was so awesome. It would have been better if Dahmer the Embalmer (dumb name, I know, give me credit for trying) didn't come in. _I knew I'd nail your ass eventually, McBride_. Well, yeah, if you're looking for a reason, you'll find one. What was that old Jay-Z song called? The one where he gets stopped by a cop and the cop's like _Do you know why I pulled you over? _

_Cause I'm young and I'm black and my hat's down low. _

_You were doing fifty-five in a fifty-fo' _

Lol. That's Dahmer, only instead of blacks, he hates Clydes. Maybe he had a bully named Clyde when he was a kid. There was a movie where this Clyde guy held dirt bike tire over someone's face and revved it. I think it sucked his scarf up and the wheel ripped his face off. I don't do that kind of thing. I'm a lover, not a fighter.

At noon, Howard let him come out for lunch, and they ate cold turkey and swiss sandwiches at the kitchen table. Clyde had only been sequestered for fifteen hours, but the house seemed somehow different, the air sweeter. Cleopawtra was happy to see him; she leapt into his lap, kneaded a place to lay, and curled up, falling instantly asleep. Howard didn't speak for a while, and Clyde was afraid that he wouldn't. The only thing worse than taunts and attacks was being ignored. _Take a book from the shelf and read it. I don't care which. You can sit on the couch. _

Ten minutes later, Clyde sat nestled in the corner of the sectional sofa with a large hardback tome open in his lap. Howard sat on the very end of the couch with his laptop, his reading glasses perched on the end of his narrow nose and lending him the displeased appearance of a woman who wants to speak to your manager. Blue electric glow bathed his face and cast shadows across his sharp features. He typed in sporadic bursts, paused contemplatively, then clicked over to Facebook and scrolled until he was ready to compose another sentence. This was a process he repeated daily as he wrote his column. He sipped sparingly from the cup of labor and ate freely from the vine of leisure. He adhered to the philosophy that slow and steady won the race, and in all the time Clyde had known him, he never even came close to missing a deadline.

Clyde stared down at the page and frowned. He grabbed the book at random and didn't know what it was until he opened it. BEST AMERICAN POEMS: 1650 to 1970. Clyde wasn't aware that America even _had _poets in 1650. And 1970 seemed an odd place to leave off. Why not make it an even number and stop at 1950? He checked the copyright page. _1986\. _They should have kept going. What's an extra sixteen years? Unless there were either a butt ton of good poems in that time and they couldn't all fit, or there were absolutely none. Clyde wasn't sure which answer made more sense: He was as ignorant of poetry as he was Greek.

He started when Howard spoke. _Honey, do me a favor._

_W-What?_

The gay man looked at him over the tops of his glasses. _If anyone ever asks you to write a newspaper column for them, and says 'Oh, it'll be such great fun' _\- here he waved his hand, then glowered. - _Don't do it. They're lying. _

Howard loved helping people and giving advice, but for everyone who emailed him with legitimate questions, there was a troll. He was always complaining that people were asking _obviously incendiary and suggestive _things. Once, someone asked how to to properly eat a man's butt, and another inquired after the process by which one can start a local chapter of the KKK. He actually replied to that one in his column. _Insert thumb into rectum and jump from a high place. _Last year, around April Fool's Day, Harold drafted Clyde to help him prank Howard. Harold wrote an email asking advice on how to steal his side piece away from his husband and heavily implied that said sidepice was him, Harold. Howard wasn't fooled. _You're funny, _he had said flatly without looking up from his laptop; it was evening and they were all on the couch.

_How so? _Harold asked innocently.

_Dear Howard, _Howard read, _I am currently seeing a married black college professor from Royal Woods. We are both gay and he is married to a white man who writes a newspaper advice column called Ask a Gay Man._

Harold looked uneasily at Clyde. _I think I over sold it, _he said with a knowing glint. He totally intended the sender to be obvious.

_How can I steal this studly, virile, perfect, amazing, hot hunk of homo from his shrill, nagging man-wife? _Howard pursed his lips and raised a brow. _I do _not _nag you, but if you'd like me to start, that can _definitely _be arranged. _

_I won't, _Clyde promised. He liked to read comics and the occasional non-picture-having-work, but the mental energy it took to write something completely from scratch - like breathing life into the void - gave him a headache.

After a while, Howard sent Clyde back to his room, but let him take Cleopawtra for company. Sitting in the middle of his bed and absently stroking the sleeping cat, Clyde thought of Stella and Jordan again. Being away from them, the shape and character of their future up in the air, was like having a belly full of piranha. Their parents probably wouldn't let them hang out anymore, and once they got back to school, Principal Dahmer would be shoved so far up their asses you'd see his eyes when they opened their mouths. He tried to get his mind off of it and onto something else, but like a car with shitty alignment, he kept drifting back.

Just after 3pm, his bedroom door opened and Lincoln popped his head in, surprising him. _Hey, Clyde, _he said haltingly, like a man addressing a mad dog killer who could kirk out at any minute.

_Hey, buddy, _Clyde said happily, then winced when Cleo stirred in his lap. Sorry, girl, didn't mean to wake you.

Lincoln slipped through the crack and held up a folder crammed with papers. _I got your stuff here, _he said and laid it on the nightstand.

Oh joy. _Thanks. _

_No problem, _he said and rubbed the back of his neck. The atmosphere clouded with suspense and Clyde missed a beat. Why was Lincoln acting so weird? Did I do something wrong? _So, uh, _the white haired boy continued, _what...what happened? There's a rumor going around school that you walked in on Stella and Jordan lezzing out and got suspended just for being there._

Clyde's jaw dropped. _No, _he said quickly, _I mean...who told you that? _

_Poppa Wheelie._

Poppa Wheelie? What the hell did _he _know? If Clyde was a useless secondary character, Poppa was a third rate face in the crowd who got less time in the sun than a vampire. _That's what everyone's saying. Instead of Girl Jordan, they're calling her Gay Jordan. _

Oh, no, Clyde thought miserably.

Knitting his brows quizzically, Lincoln asked, _What actually happened?_

A crimson blush colored Clyde's cheeks and he sputtered for words. Should he tell? Lincoln was his best friend and they told each other _everything. _Lincoln even told him about the time he pissed the bed last summer. If a dude admits that kind of thing to you, that must mean he loves and trusts you.

Anyway, the whole school knew _something _happened, and vicious lies were already spreading. It fell to him to set the record straight and at least attempt to preserve his girls' dignity. _We, uh, we got caught making out. Me with them, not them with each other._

Lincoln recoiled in surprise. _Making out? With both of them?_

Clyde nodded guiltily, but felt a warm rush of pride anyway.

_Holy shit, dude, two chicks at the same time? You're a fucking legend!_

A smug, blinding beam burned across Clyde's face and he ficked his eyes to his lap in faux humility. Oh, stop, go on, tell me how great I am. _It was nothing _

_Yes it was, _Lincoln said. His face was a mask of wonderment and his eyes sparkled with awe. He looked like a boy meeting his hero, and Clyde couldn't help the swelling in his head even if he wanted to. _That's, like, the coolest thing I've ever heard, _Lincoln gushed. _How was it?_

He watched Clyde with reverent expectation, and Clyde smirked. The coolest guy I know thinks _I'm _cool. Day: Fucking made. _It was awesome. They, uh..._he trailed off. He _was _going to say _they rubbed me off _but something told him that might be tmi. _They were great. _

_Are they your girlfriends now? _

Well...he didn't know. He thought so, but they didn't exactly have time to talk. First they got carried away, heat of the moment, then they were caught, and...that was it. He said as much, and Lincoln scrunched his lips thoughtfully to the side. _Well...they probably are. _

Before he left, Lincoln glanced over his shoulder. _Oh, don't say anything, but Cookie was looking for you today. _

Clyde's smirk fell. Cookie? In all of the excitement over the past twenty-four hours, both physical and otherwise, he forgot Cookie Milford even existed. He also, mercifully, forgot that she wasn't serious about being his girlfriend. Despite Jordan and Stella both liking him, which should have made up for it, his heart twanged bitterly anyway.

_She grabbed me by the front of my shirt, shoved me into the lockers, and made me tell her your address. _

This time, Clyde's heart clanged with _fear_. She was cute and all, but she had a reputation for being a tough cookie (lmao, this is no time for puns, Clyde), and she sounded _mad. _She probably heard the rumors just like everyone else and wanted his side of the story. _Were you cheating on me, you bastard? _No, she wasn't serious, but that didn't matter if her pride was wounded or something. He wasn't the biggest or strongest, but he was fairly certain he could take a four foot tall, eighty pound girl if he had to. He just didn't want to. At all. One, the thought of hitting a girl disturbed him (maybe he was old fashioned and sexist, oh well), and two...somewhere in his heart, he liked her regardless.

Also, fuck drama. He had enough of that shit in the group home.

_Sorry, _Lincoln said sheepishly.

_Nah, man, it's okay. _

_What does she want?_

Taking a deep breath, Clyde told him, and his white boy jaw hit his busted ass Sketchers. _Jesus Christ, dude, you're a fucking ladies man! What's your secret? _

Now that was a question he couldn't answer. Before yesterday, no girl ever looked at him the way Jordan, Stella, and even Cookie did. They didn't act like he was gross and had cooties or anything - he was straight with GJ, RA, and Stella - but they didn't make goo goo eyes at him, they saw him as a friend but not a _boy. _That all changed like flipping a switch, and -

Something dawned on him.

_Well...I _did _save Jordan from getting hit by a car. _

_You did?_

Clyde nodded and explained what happened. When he was done, Lincoln rolled his eyes to the ceiling. _Yeah, that probably did it. Girls love heroic dudes. Why do you think Ace Savvy has so many female admirers?_

Those words echoed through Clyde's head long after Lincoln left. You know, it _was _right after he did that that they started fawning on him. Up until then, he was just another guy, but, he guessed, knocking Jordan out of that car's path demonstrated that he _wasn't _just another guy. He was Clyde McBride, SuperNegro. Savin'dey white women from de car.

LOL. But seriously, his act of heroism got them interested, not his looks or his personality. That kind of stung, but, on the flipside, Jordan and Stella both shook like little schoolgirls when he kissed them, so maybe the car thing actually like bait. It drew them in, and he did the rest *wink*

Or maybe he didn't, and after getting into trouble over him, they realized they weren't thinking clearly and no longer liked him.

Ahh, negative thoughts, my old friend. How've you been?

He wasn't going to agonize over this, he decided, he was just going to sit here and pet Cleo. And worry about Cookie. Jordan said she didn't really care about him, she just wanted something from him (still didn't know what), and he instantly assumed she had inside knowledge, so he took her at face value. Whatever it was she wanted, she was persistent about it.

What could it be, though? He didn't have money, or social status, or anything else tangible she could desire. Except his body.

Maybe she wanted that.

Lol.

As if.

That night, he slept poorly and was awake long before Howard leaned in. _Come on, time to get up. _

He did his assignments from the previous day while sitting on the sofa. Howard, clad in his pink robe and slippers, typed on his laptop in quick, furious vollies, then retreated to Facebook where he scrolled through his feed, humming judgmentally whenever he saw something he didn't like. _Well _that _just earned an unfollow, _he said once, and later, _Oh, you are _soooo _off my friends' list, sister. _He stabbed a button with a flourish and nodded contentedly to himself.

When he was finished, Clyde went back to his room and spent the rest of the afternoon sporadically peeking through his curtains in aniciation of Cookie arriving like a hurricane, but each time he looked into the backyard, it stood empty.

Another day passed, then another, all of them running together in a blur of boredom, suspense, and anxiety. He told himself he wouldn't agonize over Jordan and Stella and whether they really liked him or not, but he lied, because he totally did. He wondered if they still liked him, if they were still interested in being his girlfriends, what their punishments were...he was completely cut off from them, and alone, he worried himself sick.

On Wednesday, an idea struck him. When Lincoln came over, he handed him two folded pieces of paper. _Can you give these to Jordan and Stella? _

_Uh...they're probably grounded, _Lincoln said, _so...I doubt it. _

_Can you try? _Clyde asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Lincoln darted his eyes between them, then sighed in acquiescence. _Fine. I'll try. _

_Thanks, buddy, that's all I ask, _Clyde said and clapped Lincoln's arm.

Twenty-four hours later, after so much angst it'd make a beloved fanfiction (if you added cucking and traps), Lincoln came through Clyde's bedroom door, and Clyde sat bolt upright. _Well? _

Lincoln reached into his pocket, and Clyde's heart leapt into his throat. _I got the note to Jordan and this is her reply. I couldn't get to Stella. Her mom opened the door, took one look at me, and started pointing and screaming in Vietnamese. I dunno why, but she triggers me. Something to do with maggots. Think it was a dream I had o -_

Not caring about Lincoln's dream, Clyde snatched the note out of his hand. It was neatly folded and stapled to guard against unwanted readers. When Clyde saw the heart on the front, drawn in purple gel pen, his stomach heaved and a smile so big it hurt splashed across his face. He carefully removed the staple and unfolded the note. Flowery purple script covered most of the page.

He never knew simple handwriting could be so beautiful.

At the top was his name surrounded by tiny hearts.

_Hey! I would have texted you but my mom took my phone away. And my everything else too. I'm so bored, I hate being grounded grrr! There's nothing to do except stare at the walls and think of you. I like thinking of you but I don't like staring at the walls ;)_

_I'm really sorry I got you in trouble. It was all my idea. Not to do what we did but for me and Stella to be there and junk. I told her we needed to tell you how we felt, I didn't expect you know what to happen, but I'm really glad it did. Kissing you made me feel funny and good and all kinds of stuff. I just got carried away. It happens sometimes. I really like you and I can't wait to get ungrounded so I can see you again. How long are you grounded for? My mom said three weeks and I have to stay away from you. That's not going to happen :D _

_Please write back and send Lincoln again. I miss you. XOXOXOX._

_Signed, your girlfriend._

_PS I kissed the letter all over so if you kiss it anywhere it's like kissing me :)_

Clyde brought the letter to his lips, but thought better of it. That was something he'd have to wait for Lincoln to leave for.

Light and warm, like a spring breeze, Clyde leaned over, grabbed a sheet of paper from his nightstand drawer, and plucked a pen from the wire mesh container next to the alarm clock. He hurriedly jotted a reply, folded, and handed to Lincoln, who shoved it into his pocket. _So, she's your girlfriend? _

Clyde grinned. _Sure is._

_Awesome, _Lincoln said appreciatively.

_Now I just need to talk to Stella_. He stared meaningfully at Lincoln.

_I tried, dude, really, _Lincoln said.

Clyde stuck out his bottom lip. _Not gonna work, _Lincoln dismissed, _her mom's a holy terror. She reminds me of this dream I had where -_

_One more time?_

_Dude…_

_But...Clincoln McCloud. _

Lincoln hung his head. _Alright, _he sighed.

_You still got yesterday's note? _

_Yep._

Clyde nodded.

On Friday, Clyde did his schoolwork in the living room while Howard paced back and forth and talked in exasperated tones to his editor on the phone. He wore black yoga pants, no shoes, and an orange tank top. _I am not cleaning up after your messes, _he said sassily, spinning away from the front door and stalking toward the kitchen. His lips were pursed tightly and his eyes gleamed with annoyance. _You people might be Jan, Marsha, and Cindy, but I am _not _Alice. _He made a slow semicircle in the air with his index finger. Between him and thoughts of Stella and Jordan, Clyde couldn't focus, and didn't get done until just before Lincoln showed up. He was on his bed when Linc hurried into the room and shut the door behind him.

_Did you get the notes? _Clyde jerked.

Lincoln reached into his pocket and took out two letters. _I had to go through hell to get yours to Stella and hers to - _

Ignoring him, Clyde yanked them out of Lincoln's hand. _Thank you! _

He read Stella's first, since he'd been worrying over her response. Her handwriting was smaller than Jordan's and not as boisterous, but beautiful nevertheless. It was devoid of hearts, smiley faces, and other girlish trappings.

In his letter, he asked her the same things he did Jordan. How she was, what her punishment was, and, lastly (but not leastly) if she still liked him _in light of recent events_. It sounded dumb and _maybe _a little needy, but knowing where he stood with them would give him peace of mind.

_Clyde_

_I'm well. My mother grounded me for a month, gave me extra chores, and makes me do math equations every single evening before and after dinner. Don't ask, it's an Asian thing. She was very upset that I got into trouble, you'd think it wasn't my very first time. How are you doing? Of course I still like you. I've been thinking about you a lot and wish we could talk or spend time together. I don't know if my mom will let me walk to and from school while I'm grounded, but if she does, we can see each other then. If she doesn't, I guess we have lunch and stuff. I'm still new to this kind of thing so I'm a little lost. Maybe we can go to the movies at some point? Jordan and I never really discussed what sharing you would look like in detail, but I imagine we'd have you on different days? I don't know, we'll have to work that out. Until then, I miss you and can't wait to see you again._

_Stella._

On top of the world...that's how he felt, like he was on top of the world. He folded the note and dropped it onto the nightstand. When he was finished with Jordan's, he sat it beside Stella's. He considered writing back, but decided to wait until he saw them on Monday. _So you're good with Stella too? _Lincoln asked. He sat in the chair by the desk, facing Clyde.

_Yeah, _Clyde said, _we're good. _

Lincoln shook his head disbelievingly. _I've never heard of somebody having two girlfriends at once. That's insane._

Well...Clyde hadn't heard of it either, except with Mormons, but he was sure that out of the eight billion people currently living on the face of the earth, there had to be at least a few three-way couples,

They swung it.

Right?

Well...he didn't know. A relationship comprising more than two people is something you don't see much of, so its inner workings were a mystery. You need time to study and maybe even reserve engineer it. As it stood, the only experience he has with harems came from poorly written Ace Savvy fan fictions by Falgg9911 and TwistedWriting. It always worked out for the best there, but that wasn't real life. In real life, girls get jealous. Hell, _he'd _get jealous if the genders were swapped and he and Linc were with the same girl. That's where cucking comes into play, and he fucking hated cucking. Like, it was kind of amusing the first couple times, but by the millionth, it got old. He could easily put himself in Stella and Jordan's shoes, and when he did, he saw the potential for envy, jealous rivalry, and and resentment. So, so much resentment. He pictured himself walking into Jordan's room with a bouquet of flowers and a hard on, then BAM, Lincoln's plowing her from behind, cowlick bobbing back and forth like a mocking wave. _Yo, dog, you tryna get some of this? She likes me better, you know. You're just a mosshead background character. People like OCs more than they like you. _

Sigh.

After Lincoln left, Clyde laid back on his bed, laced his hands behind his head, and crossed his legs. Why did they decide to share him? Kind of dumb when you think about it. Oh, we like the same boy? Let's just share him. Case closed. People aren't like that. People are possessive. They want their own space, land, resources, and partners - to hell with everyone else. I mean, it's almost like a writer somewhere wanted to skip all the juicy drama two girls fighting over a boy could lead to because _eh, it's just Clyde, he's not worth it. _If it was Lincoln, he'd get a one million word epic charting his entire life - every dump, every burp, every stray thought about things that happened 95 chapters ago. Things that half the readers have probably forgotten or never really cared about in the first place. Okay, gee, we get it, he and Ronnie Anne are in love, now get to the cucking. Umf.

He realized he was entertaining his inferiority complex, and forced those covetous thoughts away. Does Lincoln have two hot, cool girls who wanna be with him? No, no he does not. He just has Ronnie Anne...and she lives thirty miles away. Hahahaha. Looks like your princess is in another castle, Mario. *Stereotypical Italian voice* Mama mia, that's a long a-drive! And Vanzilla would break down halfway there so _that _was out. Lincoln and Lori had to take the Greyhound just to see the ones they loved. Hahahaha.

Wait, that's not funny.

That's sad as hell.

And while we're on the topic...Lori. Not so umf anymore, is she? I mean, she's attractive and the older sister thing still really does it for me, but she's not Stella or Jordan. He hadn't been involved with them very long, but they were both pretty amazing and he could barely spare Lori or any other girl a thought. His mind wanted to be on them and only them.

Just them..

* * *

_...Not Cookie. _

Cookie blew an angry puff of air that stirred her bangs and glowered at the happy couple following the sidewalk ahead of her. They were about fifteen, the boy was blonde and the girl was ginger, and as they held hands, fingers twinned together, they talked, laughed, and smiled like loons. Cookie trod behind them like an overwrought soldier heading for the front - head down, shoulders squared, thumbs thrust through the straps of her backpack. She wore a purple jacket over a white blouse accented by a yellow tie, a purple skirt, knee high socks, and black shoes with a strap across the top, the latter sheened in the muted gray afternoon light. She looked cute and innocent...until you reached her dour face; lips turned heavily down, brow bunched, stormy brown eyes narrowed to reptilian slits and underhung by dark bags bespeaking sleepless nights, she resembled a walking corpse...a walking corpse who was pissed at the world.

_Nope, Cookie can't have _that _because she's weak. She gets cold feet every time she goes to Clyde's house and winds up standing on the other side of the street hyperventilating. She was _allll _about it the other day at school, but now? _

Her bitter laugh came as a grating chuckle. The day Clyde was suspended, she resolved to get his address from Lincoln and pay him a visit...a sexy visit. The next morning, she prowled the halls looking for her mark, getting more and more frustrated as every turn, corridor, and cranny proved Lincolnless. She'd been thinking of Clyde non stop since the night before, guilt weighing her stomach down like rocks and hot passion weighing something _else _down, and she had her little heart set on finding out where Clyde lived. Where was this bozo? She scanned the crowded hall for the telltale rustle of his cowlick, but didn't see shit, and that pissed her off even more. By the time she found him digging around in his locker like a proctologist in a fat guy's butt, she was fucking _seething. _

He turned as she stalked up and started to flash a polite smile, then cried out when she fisted the front of his shirt and slammed him back into the bank of lockers with a metal clang. He was a good six inches taller than she was and had at last ten pounds on her, but she was horny, mad at herself for getting Clyde suspended, mad at Jordan and Stella for taking him away from her, and scared they'd beat her to the punch yet again...all of that, like dry deadwood, went into her furnace and fueled her drive. She was _not _one to be fucked with right now.

_I have a question to ask you, Lincoln Loud, _she sneered.

_W-What?_

_Where does Clyde live? I need his address _right now.

_Why?_

Wrong answer. She held up her hand and made a fist. _Tell me right now, or so help me God I'll punch them. _She darted her eyes to his crotch to show him what _them _was.

He paled and shook. _Not my nards! _

She leaned in and grimaced. _What. Is. His. Address?_

_Alright, alright! 185 Ridgecrest. _

She shoved him away, spun on her heels, and marched away, bumping into a kindergartner and snapping, _Watch your ass, you little cunt. _She was still mad and she didn't know why. She had what she wanted and later on, under the cover of darkness, she'd steal out of her tower and fuck Clyde silly. She should be happy.

But she wasn't.

After school, she walked home again to expend some of her restless energy and took a detour at Ridgecrest. Might as well find his house now so I know where're I'm going later. It was on a corner lot, a modern one story ranch with an attached garage and a purple roof that pitched in the center. When she saw the number on the mailbox, her heart started slamming and her stomach rolled. She was completely exposed - if he looked out his window, he might see her, and her hair wasn't even done!

Inexplicable panic gripped her chest, and she ducked behind a tree. She peeked around the trunk and watched the facade, hoping to catch a glimpse of his manly face. She waited ten minutes before giving up and going home, getting madder and madder because she didn't get to see him and because she was acting stupid. Feverish? Weak in the knees? Rocking and reeling?

Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?

She didn't know and that chapped her ass.

At home, she climbed the stairs, went into her room, and flung her backpack onto the floor. She kicked her shoes off, went to the vanity standing against the far wall, and dropped onto the padded bench facing it. In the mirror, her face was as it had always been: Not pretty, not ugly, just there; freckles, clear skin, thin eyebrows, big eyes. A spill of auburn hair lay against her forehead. She thrust out her bottom lip and blew it aside. She met her reflection's eyes and stopped.

Was she attractive? She didn't know, she wasn't into girls (and if she was, she wouldn't be into herself, yuck). She liked to think she was, but past the bluster and bravado, she feared that she was plain, totally unremarkable, set apart from everyone else by neither her beauty nor her ugliness.

Jordan and Stella weren't very pretty either, so...there's that. In fact, of the three, she, Cookie, was probably the best looking. Stella had that jaundiced Asian skin going on and Jordan was all stringy and her knuckles practically dragged on the ground.

They had a leg up on her, however. They actually _did _something with Clyde, and for all intents and purposes, the game was no longer getting to him first, it was stealing him away from an already established relationship. Like a thot.

That made her mad all over again because she shouldn't have to do that: She asked him on a date first, she held his hand first, they were basically boyfriend and girlfriend _already. _

A hot ball of fury swelled in her chest, and she slammed her fist against the tabletop. Fucking bullshit!

She'd get him back tonight, though. She'd never gone down on a dick before, but she deep throated her vibrator a bunch and was certain she could suck his soul out; by the time he nutted (and yes, she was gonna swallow), he was gonna be _hooked. _No fried rice for him...only Cookie.

At dusk, she slipped her shoes back on, shrugged into her coat, and hurried down the stairs, her chest tightening in rising suspense. Outside, it was dark and cool, a stiff breeze blowing through the treetops and knocking the first fallen leaves of autumn to the ground, where they swirled along the sidewalks. Streetlamps cast pools of muddled glow, and Cookie darted from one to another, her nerves growing with every step. When she finally reached Clyde's house twenty-five minutes after setting out, her face reddened by the wind, which had turned cold, her stomach throbbed and gnashed. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat and stood across the street like she had earlier. Lights blazed in the front windows, lending the house a cozy cottage air, and Cookie scrutinized them for signs of life. She didn't know where Clyde's room was and she didn't want to go fumbling around in search of it. That's how you get caught by your soon-to-be boyfriend's gay parents.

There was no other way.

Unfortunately.

She took a deep, fortifying breath,

Alright, let's do this.

She went to take a step forward, but her leg wouldn't respond to her brain's command. Her heart jackhammered against her ribs and she realized she was sucking sharp, rattling breaths like a woman giving birth. She regulated her breathing and rolled her neck, resembling a tiny pugilist limbering up for her big fight against the champ. Alright, _now _let's do this.

Again, her body disobeyed. She tried two more times, then finally left when her nerves became so great her knees shook. At home, she lashed out and kicked her nightstand, sending her lamp to the floor with a clatter of breaking glass. Why was she being so dumb? She was Cookie motherfucking Milford, she did _not _get butterflies.

Only she did. Bad. The next day, she tried again, and again, she crashed and burned like 9/11. Every night that week, she went to Clyde's house after dark, telling herself that tonight was _the _night, then she stood on the other side of the street and trembled in terror. Last night, as she laid in bed struggling to sleep, she took an honest inventory of her emotions. A tiny part of her was anxious over sex - just a little - but her main fear was that Clyde would send her away. She rarely drank from the cup of rejection, but when she did, it hurt like a bitch. Even the smallest _no _on the most inconsequential of matters cut her deeply and left her wounded for hours, if not days. If Clyde did it, she'd die. Literally die.

Not before taking Jordan and Stella with her, though.

Presently, her burning eyes bore into the backs of the young lovers and her lips curled over her teeth in an ugly, wolfish sneer. Look at them. All happy and giggly. She hoped a car leapt over the curb and crushed them. Then burst into flames. Then fucking exploded. With the driver still inside. _Who's hopeless noooooooow? _

Still you, Cookie.

Her frown deepened sourly.

Jordan and Stella have probably fucked him twenty times now. Meanwhile, you're stuck with your vibrator and your *Spongebob spreading hands, rainbow* imaginaaaaaaation.

A beetle scurried across the pavement.

She stomped it.

You're pathetic.

When she got home, she was fuming. Tonight, she told herself, tonight was the night and _nothing _was going to stop her.

* * *

_Nothing._

Jordan tied the trash bag, heaved it out of the can, and carried it out the back door. It was approaching twilight and a symphony of cricket sounds serenaded the coming night. Somewhere in the neighborhood, kids laughed, and the heavenly smell of barbecuing chicken billowed into the air. She slung the bag over her shoulder and gritted her teeth; her arms quivered, her legs shook, and her back started to bend. Ugh, what was in here, rocks?

Hunched over and shuffling like an old woman, she crossed the lawn, reached the barrel at the curb, and tossed the bag in. Whew. Now, back to business. Nothing was going to stop her from going over to Clyde's tonight; she was sick of waiting, and every time she recalled kissing his chest and touching him through his pants, the pressure in her loins increased. No amount of fucking her pillow or fingering herself in the bath relieved it. At best, it only took the edge off...and since yesterday, not even that. She was flushed, shaky, and locked in the worst agony she had ever known; it was like being burned alive but never dying. She could barely walk, hardly speak, it was hell. Literally hell.

But in an hour, maybe less, she would find release.

Umf.

Back inside, she shut the kitchen door. Her mother entered from the living room, putting an earring in, and stopped. "How do I look?" she asked. A tall, middle aged woman with dark, curly hair, she wore a stylish black dress, heels, pearls around her neck, and a thick layer of lipstick.

"You look really pretty, Mom," Jordan said honestly.

Tonight, as luck would have it, Mom was going on a date, her first one in, like, three years or something. A single mother since Jordan's dad went out for a pack of cigarettes seven years ago and never came back, she worked two jobs to support them and rarely had time for anything but sleep. When she mentioned having a date, Jordan was happy for her...and even happier for herself because that meant she could sneak out for her own date~

"I forgot how time consuming putting makeup on is," she replied. She picked up her purse up from the counter and threaded one arm through the strap. She looked at Jordan and knitted her brow sternly. "You are to stay in your room the entire time, young lady."

"I will," Jordan promised.

"If you're good, I'll let you watch TV starting tomorrow."

Oooh. Jordan missed TV. A lot. But she missed Clyde even more, so yeah, she wasn't going to be good. Sorry. She was going to be bad. _Real _bad.

Mom leaned over and kissed her forehead, leaving a big red stain. "I love you. Call me from the house phone if you need me."

"Okay."

When she was gone, Jordan went to her room, dropped onto the edge of the bed, and waited patiently. Five minutes later, the front door opened and closed again. "Forgot my cell phone," Mom called.

"Okay!" Jordan replied.

Perhaps owing to being awake eighteen hours a day, Mom was really forgetful. Every time she left the house, she had to turn back around because she neglected to grab some vital component of her day. Purse. Phone. Name tag. It was like clockwork.

"Okay, I'm going now!"

"Have fun!"

When she was gone again, Jordan waited another ten minutes in case this was one of Mom's infrequent but not unheard of twofer deals. When she was as sure that Mom wasn't coming back as she could be, she bent over, grabbed her Keds from under the bed, and pulled them on. Her heart raced in pleasant expectation and a slight tremble went through her fingers, which made tying the laces difficult. Done, she got to her feet and looked around. Okay. Wow, this is really gonna happen. I'm going to lose my virginity to Clyde McBride. Do I need anything?

She bunched her lips and thought. What does one take on a trip into womanhood? Snacks? Nintendo DS?

Nothing, she decided, all she needed was her body. And her heart. The former was more important at the moment; she liked Clyde and all, but right now, her primary concern was putting out the intolerable fire in her crotch. With Clyde's hose. *Wink*

She snapped the light off, left the room, and started toward the door. She was almost there when she remembered something.

Stella.

The other day, she and Stella vowed to share Clyde evenly. They didn't have the time to work out a set plan or anything, but the intent was there. You can say whatever you want about Jordan, but not that she wasn't a team player. It was only right, and fair, that she at least tell Stella, if not invite her to join.

A twinge of irritation pinched her stomach, but she went into the kitchen and picked up the phone anyway. Dialing the number from memory, she pressed the handset against her ear and wracked her brain for a way to trick whoever answered into giving the phone to Stella, cuz if Stella's mom was anything like Jordan's, she was forbidden from doing anything right now but breathing.

Two rings later, the line clicked and a heavily accented female voice came on. "_Helro?"_

Jordan's heart bounced and she snatched the first thing that came to mind. Deepening her voice and shifting her eyes suspiciously from side to side, she said, "Uhh...this is Dr. Hook with the Society of Really Smart People...can I talk to Stella? I want her to join our organization."

"Ooooh, yes, right away, Stella _very _smart girl, she fit right in."

Whew. Jordan was sure this was gonna blow up in her face.

Mrs. Stella held the phone away from her mouth with a rustle and let out a shriek that made Jordan jump. "_Stella! You come here! Smart people on phone talk to you!"_

A few moments later, Stella picked up. "Hello?" she asked warily,

"It's Jordan," Jordan said quickly, "pretend I'm someone named Dr. Hook with a smart person group. Anyway, I'm gonna go see Clyde tonight. Can you come?"

Stella didn't immediately reply. "Uh...when?" she whispered.

"As soon as I hang up."

Stella's breath caught. "I...I don't know," she said strickenly, "I don't think I can."

Well, she tried. "Okay," she chirped and hung up. She'd share until she was blue in the face, but that didn't mean she wasn't happy to have him to herself.

Leaving the kitchen light on, she slipped out the back door, went around the side of the house, and rushed down the sidewalk through the deepening gloom. Kids raced bikes in the street and an old man walked a golden retriever on the opposite shoulder. The lamps lining the way winked on one by one, and Jordan quickened her step. She expected her mother to be gone about two hours, which gave her plenty of time to hang out with Clyde if she hurried.

Visions of what _hanging out _entailed danced sexily through her head. Clyde beneath her, their wet sticky sexes rubbing briskly together, her hands pinning his to the bed, his feet hooked over hers, their breaths coming in short, hot pants, the friction heady, fast, making her heart pound until UMF he speared her and they both came so hard they cringed. Her lips swelled uncomfortably and pinched the fabric of her shorts. She stopped, pulled them free, and looked around, embarrassed. Thankfully, no one saw her camel toe. Alright, guys, we're good.

A block away from Clyde's, she stopped again and repeated the same process, wincing at the way her damp panties scraped her sensitive center. When she got back underway, she squished with every step, which made her sigh her frustration. Ugh. This is so lame. She'd been horny and turned on plenty of times in the past, but nothing like the sustained misery that had been tormenting her body since that day with Clyde in the library. That first kiss started something, and tonight they were going to finish it.

Clyde's street appeared ahead on the right. She darted across the street, keeping her head low and pretending she was dodging ninjas (only these ninjas used assault rifles because assault rifles are cool). She started down the sidewalk, then stopped when a bush to her left shook. She drew back, her hands fisting defensively to her chest, and cocked her brow. Whatever was in there, it sounded big.

Like maybe a vicious dog.

Her heartbeat sped up and her muscles tensed. Before she could flee, something popped out and landed on the sidewalk with a breathless _oof. _Jordan jumped back with a high, throat ripping scream, and the thing screamed too, its terrified tone matching hers.

A ray of light from a streetlamp fell over the heap, and Jordan's howls stopped. "Stella?"

Stella pushed to her feet and swayed like a drunk. Twigs and leaves tangled in her black hair, dirt smudged her yellowish skin, and dust covered the front of her black skirt. Her shirt, red star across the chest, had come sloppily untucked in spots, and was torn here and there. She looked like she lost a fight with a lawn mower, then got jumped by Groot on the way to the emergency room. "You scared me," she hissed and looked nervously around. The night was still and empty save for the ever present chirping of crickets and the soft whisper of wind through the trees. No one came out of their house to investigate (two girls screaming bloody murder? Pfft. _Wheel of Fortune's _on. Fuck them) and for that, Jordan was thankful...though a little offended too. Someone could be killing us out here!

"You scared me too," she said, then, "why are we whispering?"

"Because we snuck out of our houses, that's why," Stella spat.

Oh. Made sense. She cocked her hip and folded her arms. "I thought you said you couldn't come."

"I got my sister to cover for me," Stella said and frowned, "now I have to do her homework _and _her chores for six months."

Ouch.

For her _and _Stella, Stella because she made a deal with the devil and her, most of all, since she wouldn't get to have Clyde to herself. A spark of annoyance flickered in her chest, but she quashed it out quickly and without mercy. "Alright," she said and started walked, "come on."

Stella hurried to catch up and took long strides to match her pace. "How are we going to do it?" she asked.

"I go first, then you," Jordan decreed.

"Why do you get to go first?" Stella asked, her voice edged with outrage.

"Because this was _my _idea," Jordan said, the back of her neck flushing with anger.

Stella took a deep breath, and Jordan thought she was going to keep arguing, but instead she exhaled deeply. "Fine."

"You'll get your turn," Jordan assured her, then grinned wickedly, "right after I get mine."

Her pussy quivered and her heart knocked excitedly.

She couldn't _wait _for this.


	7. The Big Finale

**Guest: I'm glad you're enjoying this one. You know what they say, even a broken clock is right twice a day.**

**Guest: I stay getting roasted. **

* * *

A late summer fly, sluggish and emaciated like a Holocaust survivor on liberation day, picked slowly across the ceiling, its steps wobbly and unsure. It reminded Clyde of someone walking on ice and trying their damndest not to slip. He tracked its progress with his eyes and flattened his lips into a tight, bloodless slash (_when you politely say hello to a Caucasian person and they give you this look)_. He'd been watching it for nearly an hour, alternately cheering for it to fall and for it to succeed, once even belting out his best Rob Schneider. _You can do it! _Something told him there was a metaphor to be had in that languishing insect, but he was too lazy to look and too dense to find it if he did. He recalled a movie or television show where someone accused a dorky looking kid in glasses of being a nerd. Dorky just hung his head in shame. _I wish...nerds are smart. _Hahaha, that was him. A geek, but not a nerd. There's a difference, you know. A nerd is passionate about science, history, academic shit, whereas a geek is all about media. Video games, sci-fi, Star Trek, Hobbits, Middle Earth, mathcore.

At least that was the distinction he used. He wasn't dumb, but he wasn't a nerd either. He was passionate about Ace Savvy, King of the Rings, Steal That Car: Gary, Indiana; and The Living and the Dead. Ask him to do advanced multiplication, and he'd be lost, but ask him about why the main character in _The Best Kids _was really the good guy and not the villain, and he'd whip chart graphs out of his ass. You'd also get at least one _furthermore. _When you hear that, you know someone means business.

You know who _was_ really smart, though? Stella. She made straight As, and did it with the ease of a freaking genius. He always kind of envied her that, but never did he find it _cute. _Why would he? There's nothing cute about schoolwork. Closing his eyes and thinking about her, however, he always pictured her as she invariably was every single class period: Legs crossed, bent slightly over, pen sweeping and whorling across the page, forehead pinched, determination in her eyes.

Why did that turn him on so much?

And then there was Jordan. He played kickball, tag, and a million other games with her during recess, and sometimes after school let out. He knew her cocky expression well; big, defiant grin, one eye squinted slightly in a wink-of-death, head tilted down like a bull getting ready to charge. Whenever he saw it, he felt just a _little _trepidation because that meant she was playing to win. Looking back, he could never remember feeling anything else for it, but now, conjuring it in his mind's eye like a gypsy stirring visions in her crystal ball, it took his breath away. The desire to pepper her face with kisses came over him like a shroud, and he saw himself brushing his lips urgently across her features. Nose, chin, brow, the ridge of her cheekbone, and especially her mouth.

He drew a deep, unsteady breath and let it out through his nose. It did little to alleviate the weight on his chest, however.

Above, the fly staggered, retained its footing with a single arm (is that what they're called?), and dragged itself back onto all sixes. Stop being a drama queen, dude, it's only early October. The weather was starting to cool off, but it wasn't cole enough to wipe out all the flies. Was it?

Something _else _he didn't know. See what I mean about being a geek but not a nerd?

He wasn't self-loathing, just stating facts. It's kind of hard to be down on yourself when two girls as great as Stella and Jordan liked you. He could do it, he supposed, and probably had, but, hey, stupid always finds a way, right? He had _nothing _to pity himself over.

The more he thought about Jordan and Stella's...arrangement, ya know, agreeing to share him...the more he liked it. Girls are like...hm….flavors. You got your chocolate, your vanilla, your strawberry, and your pistachio (for all y'all with brain damage). Most men can only have one at a time. He, on the other hand, got to have _two. _One smart, kind of shy, and the other bold and fiery. Topkek? More like topUMF. The best of both worlds.

Nerd though he was not, he was smart enough to know that the chances of him marrying one of them one day were small - who marries their high school sweetheart much less their elementary school sweetheart? - but he was thinking about marriage now. It's kind of strange to ask someone to settle for one flavor for the rest of their life. Marrying a chocolate gurl means that you can never have cherry or frozen custard ever again. Bizarre. People are complex and have needs that, realistically, one other person can't really meet. Take him, for instance. Stella liked King of the Rings too, Jordan did not. Jordan liked video games, Stella couldn't play them to save her life. You could be rough with Jordan, but with Stella you had to be gentle~

They were like two halves of a whole, perfectly complementing and contrasting each other.

Damn, when you get right down to it, I'm lucky as fuck. I don't even care if I'm a secondary character anymore. Like...okay, cameramen, go follow Lincoln, leave me alone with my ladies. We're gonna be awhile. I'll see you in...eh...ten episodes? Actually, nah, Imma just sit the rest of the season out. Have Linc hang with Poppa Wheelie if the script calls for a BEST FRIEND. Say we got into a fight or something, idc.

He sighed contentedly and watched the fly scuttle toward the crease where the wall met the ceiling. Lucky. Never thought that word would apply to me, but I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.

His smile fell a little.

Wonder when the hammer's gonna drop.

There _had _to be some hidden pratfall in here somewhere, a crouching horror just waiting to pop out and grab him, _got'cha, mossy! _Every good thing comes with a price tag; like they say, there's no such thing as a free lunch, and if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

They also say the moon is made of cheese. Will you relax? Stop being paranoid, my man, nothing bad's gonna happen. Nothing bad at -

Someone knocked on his window.

Starting, he sat up like a man from a nightmare. When he saw Cookie, his heart sank.

Oh, no.

Before he, Jordan, and Stella...ahem...hung out in the library, Cookie came onto him, held his hand, and all but said _I wanna be your girlfriend. _He had reservations, but let's be honest here, he was a huge dork with issues and she was a cute, feisty girl; he jumped at the chance to go out with her, no pride, no shame, no second thoughts. Then, Jordan confirmed his worst fear, the thing that sprang instantly to mind when he realized what Cookie was doing: That she didn't want him, but rather, wanted something _from _him.

After that, he, Jordan, and Stella got carried away and the sting he felt when Jordan broke the news was washed completely away, like blood by sweet, blonde haired peroxide followed by almond eyed alcohol. Umf. He didn't spare her a single thought until Lincoln told him she practically tortured his address out of him. She sounded mad, and it was probably at him. Sure, she was just using him, but still, she'd play that _you cheated on me _card and probably break his neck. He lived for, like, three days in dread of her coming, but she never showed, and he allowed himself to think she wouldn't.

He swallowed thickly and stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. Instead of breaking through the pane and floating in like a vampire, she flashed a beaming smile and waved, then pointed at the window sash. _Let me in. _

Clyde had seen _The Lost Boys, _and a piece of dialogue came back to him. _Don't ever invite a vampire into your house, silly boy...cuz they'll fuck you _up. Those last four words weren't part of it, but you get the picture. If a vampire was that bad, imagine letting a woman scorned into your house. They say hell hath no fury like, and Clyde wanted to make it through life without getting closer to hell than that dumb group home.

Cookie's smile remained, and her eyes flickered with a warm suffusion that made his heart knock. She didn't look like a vampire...or a woman scorned. She looked...giddy, with just a hint of anxious, her simper straining slightly at the corners of her pink mouth and her brow cutely creased. She pointed insistanly at the sash, and Clyde got to his feet, drawn to her by that special magnetism only a girl can exert over a boy. Her eyes darted nervously from his face to his feet as he approached, and her smile took on an almost worried quality that kind of hurt to behold.

She might be using him...and her intentions might not be pure...but he had a weakness for cute girls. Sue him.

At the window, he unlocked it and lifted the sash, tiny metal wheels squeaking in the tracks. A cool night breeze washed across his face, bringing with it the faint scent of Cookie's perfume. She raked her teeth over her bottom lip and lifted up on her tippy toes, then back down, as if in some strange but endearing form of greeting. "Hi," she said shyly.

"Uh, hi," Clyde said haltingly. "What are you doing here?"

She gave an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders - _I dunno_ \- and giggled sweetly. "I was just in the neighborhood," she said, "so I thought I'd drop by."

He opened his mouth but snapped it closed again when he realized he was going to spill the beans on Lincoln. "How did you know where I live?" he asked. There, let's see what she says to _that, _Little Miss Use-'Em-and-Abuse-'em.

Her smile didn't waver. "I made Lincoln tell me." Her eyes squinted and her nose twitched, lending her the appearance of a clever and self-satisfied rabbit. "I really wanted to see you. Can I come in?"

No, don't invite her in, she can't cross the threshold unless you tell her it's okay. Keep your mouth closed and you'll be safe. "Uh, I-I really can't. I-I'm grounded." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder as though GROUNDED were a being made manifest, perhaps sitting on the dresser and messily eating from a fun sized bag of Doritos and getting crumbs on the floor.

"It won't take long," Cookie said, and her eye twinkled with mischief.

Okay, Clyde wasn't exactly what you'd call _experienced _with women, but he thought he was decent at analyzing people; every instinct in his body told him that whatever she may be, Cookie was not angry with him. That lavacious little glint in her eye, like a suggestive wink, told him she either wanted to do things with him, or wanted to trick him into thinking she wanted to do things with him.

Maybe turning her away would have been best, but his curiosity was piqued, and he kind of wanted answers. "Alright," he said.

Cookie's face sparkled with exuberance. She slapped her hands onto the ledge, jumped, and climbed over the sill with the grace and ease of a small, tree dwelling bear. The hem of her purple skirt rode up, and Clyde caught a flash of pale purple panties on creamy, freckle smattered flesh. His airways closed and suddenly, he was warm all over, as if in the gentle throes of a low grade fever. Cookie smoothed the front of her skirt and glanced at him, her eyes flicking quickly away and her cheeks blossoming a coy shade of pink. "Nice, uh, nice room," she said and looked around, mostly, he suspected, so she didn't have to look at him,

"Thanks," he said. As far as bedrooms go, it was a little on the bland side. Desk against one wall, dresser against another, headboard and nightstand pushed even with the third. The only poster was a top down view of One-Eyed Jack's upturned face on the door, his fist clenched and raised about his head. He thought Jack was about to punch someone until Harold told him it was _most likely a black power fist. _That sounds like a cool superpower, he said, what does it do?

_Gains respect and equality. _

Oh.

Lame.

Cookie's gaze traveled restlessly around and her blush burned brighter as if in response to dirty thoughts. Clyde watched her a moment, waiting for her to say something, and when she didn't, he said, "I kind of want to talk to you. About...something."

"O-Okay," she nodded. "We, uh, w-we should sit down." She looked past him, at the bed, and her face turned scarlet. She brushed past him and sat on the foot, her back stiff and her hands clasped to her knees. Clyde's eyes went to the smooth, milky flesh between the tops of her socks and the bottom of her skirt, and his stomach gnashed. He was warmer than before, hot even, and stirring..._down there_.

Maybe...maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

He sat next to her, living a wide gap between them. His heart throbbed and his stomach churned like a stormy sea. In the corner of his eye, Cookie's hands tremored, her pink tipped fingers digging into her knees as she made a vain attempt to hide her nerves. There's a cute girl...sitting on my bed...and unless I took a wrong turn at Fullretardville, she wants me.

Maybe even..._that way_.

She also wasn't one of his girlfriends.

That realization struck him like a jackboot to the sternum, and a burning mixture of guilt and shame descended over him. All he wanted to do was talk to her. Whatever she had in mind - and by the looks of it, it's pretty fucking hot and steamy - she can keep to herself. I just wanna know what the hell's going on here. "So," she said, her voice a shaky croak, "what do you want to talk about, C-Clyde?"

The beautiful way she hitched when she spoke his name, as though passing it over her lips made her heart skip, sent a jolt into Clyde's center, and a grimace of pleasant pain ran across his face. She turned her head to look at him, and in the limelight of her eyes, Clyde felt the strangest and keenest sense of being exposed, vulnerable, like a naked convict when the spotlight falls on him mid-escape.

If he didn't get it over with, he'd choke. He tried to lift his gaze to hers, but discovered that he couldn't. How should he approach this? "D-Do you really like me?" he heard himself ask, and winced at how inarticulate that sounded. It was, however, the most direct and straightforward question he could have posed. At the heart of the matter, wasn't that what he wanted to know?

Cookie's brown angled down in a nonplussed V. "I do," she said earnestly, "why...why would you think I didn't?"

"Well, because...Jordan said you just wanted to use me and weren't serious about being my girlfriend." Even as he spoke, it occurred to him that he _probably _shouldn't have dragged Jordan into it, but it was too late, so he leaned into it like a man into a fall.

Cookie's face darkened. "She's lying." she spat, "I _do _like you. It's her and Stella who aren't serious. They just don't want me to have you."

"They don't?" Clyde asked cautiously. He thought back to that day in the library, their eyes hazed with love and lust, their lips grazing his skin and their hands stroking him through his jeans, the bliss of their velvet touch coaxing the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had from the very center of his being.

They were lying?

His head spun with confusion and he looked down at his feet in an effort to get his bearings.

Not giving him the time, Cookie reached tentatively out and laid her hand on the back of his, her incredible warmth flowing into him and knocking his heart off balance. "I _do _like you, Clyde," she swore, her voice like a sacred oath. He looked up at her; desperately sought truth in her eyes; and found it.

She smiled weakly and scooted closer, her knee glancing his. "You're strong, manly, and brave," she said and slipped her fingers through his. The slender shape of her hand sent shivers through his body, and his breathing took on a ragged hue. "What's _not _to like?"

"There's a lot not to like about me," Clyde blurted, and looked contritely down. "I'm not very...great."

"Yes you are," Cookie gasped in surprise. "At least….I think so."

Their eyes met, and the world shrank away until the only thing that existed was the girl before him. She broke from his hand and touched the side of his face, a giggle bursting from her throat. "You're handsome, masculine...and a real badass." She leaned closer, her eyes locking with his and her lips parting. "Just what I want in a boyfriend."

Clyde's hand fluttered to her cheek and his fingertips into her hair. For a moment they gazed deeply into each other's eyes, then their lips touched and Clyde kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and caressing hers. She kissed him back, with the same fawn-on-ice clumsiness that both Jordan and Stella had but with more gusto; she grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands dragged him flush to her, and attacked his tongue with hers. Clyde's eyes flew open in surprise, and before he knew it, they were tumbling back into the bed, Cookie latched to him like an angry marsupial, the kiss breaking and a grunt shocking from Clyde's chest. She planted her knees on either side of him, thrust her butt into the air, and pinned his shoulders to the bed. Her face hovered inches above his, her hot breath puffing against his face and her devilish little smirk coated with smeared lip gloss. Fire blazed in her eyes, and Clyde didn't know whether he was turned on...or terrified.

She placed a wet kiss to his chin, then his cheek, her tiny breasts skimming his chest as she moved up his jawline. She panted heavily, kissing faster and harder, her girlish passion, locked between her thighs for so long, cresting with shocking rapidity. Her lips fused to his, and their tongues grappled wildly, his brain scrambling and all conscious thoughts departing him in a rush. Cookie trembled like a high tension wire thrumming with power, and Clyde clapped his hands to her butt for purchase. Her skirt had hiked around her hips, and only a thin layer of cotton separated her from his touch. Dank heat rose from her in sultry waves, and when he ran his middle finger through the dip between her ass cheeks, stroking the soft, dizzyingly hot center of her femininity, she purred into his mouth.

Pulling away from his lips, she pushed up slightly, her nails digging into her shoulders, and rocked her hips slowly against his erection. Clyde could feel her sick humidity through his jeans, and his back arched with blind, animal instinct, his bulge prodding mindlessly between her legs, each meeting of hard iron and silky, yielding flesh ripping a gasp from their throats. Cookie sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and moaned, shudders racing through her smoldering body. "Take off my underwear," she whispered.

Clyde jammed his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and brushed them down her butt, freeing the source of her heat. She lifted one knee, then the other, then reached back and pulled them over her ankle, flinging them aside. She grinned down at him, bent, and kissed him. "Now take yours off."

She drew back a little to give him space, and sputtering like a retard, he fumbled at the button of his jeans. Cookie bit her bottom lip and watched in giddy anticipation, her chest rising and falling. He got it, then pulled down the zipper. Bowing his back, he pulled them down, followed by his underwear. His dick sprang out like an urban Jack-in-the-box, and Cookie's eyes crossed. "Wow," she breathed in wonder. She looked up at him and then back at his cock, the smutty light back in her eyes. "It's really big." She wrapped her fingers around it, and Clyde's spine tingled so hard he cringed and let out a long, wavering _nngh~ _like a character in a poorly written internet lewd. It pulsed hotly in her hand, abjectly begging to be joined with her body, and she gaped down at it, so frozen in her maddening desire that she could scarcely breathe. She looked at him, her eyes wide and her face the color of blood. She licked her lips…

...then guided him to her center. Her wet heat involved him and his body jerked; his tip slammed into her middle, just above her opening, and they both moaned. She bowed her head, loose strands of hair veiling her face, and took a deep, shivery breath. Her grip loosened, then tightened again. Slowly, shakily, she brought him to her entrance. She aligned their sexes and settled just enough that his tip pushed against her well. Their eyes met, and Clyde's heart stopped. Neither moved, both poised on the precipice, one swift thrust away from the point of no return. She ran her hands gingerly over his chest, and he cupped her hips. His body twitched, his dick ached, and every atom in his body crackled with need.

Molten fire leaked from her core and dribbled down his dick in rivulets, joining the precum already flowing unashamedly along his shaft. He threw his head back and lifted his hips, needing her body around his so badly he shook.

Cookie fisted his shirt in her hands and started to lower herself.

When someone cried out behind her, she started.

She and Clyde both turned to the window. Stella and Jordan glared, Jordan's hands on the sill and her body tensed, ready to vault to over. "Get off of him, you little bitch," Jordan hissed.

Clyde's stomach dropped. Cookie's grip on his shirt tightened possessively and her pussy lips formed around his head...also possessively. "Oh, hi, girls," she said, her tone dripping with venom.

"What do you think you're doing?" Stella demanded.

Clyde swallowed thickly. Neither Stella nor Jordan looked at him. They were both focused on Cookie with the laser guided intensity of heat-seeking missiles, their eyes hard, features twisted, lips tight.

"Losing my virginity to my _boyfriend,_" Cookie replied, drawing the final word tauntingly out. She splayed her fingers on his chest and swiveled her hips, her oozing hole swirling around his tip and teasing a moan from his lips. Sweaty bangs veiled Cookie's fevered eyes, and she smirked icily at her competition. Clyde could do nothing but hold tighter to her hips. It penetrated the smoke in his brain that shit was about to go down and he had to play peacemaker...or something...but he was right there, knocking at Cookie's door. Nothing mattered but quenching the fire licking his body and casting off the burden of his mind bending lust.

Jordan's lips curled over her teeth in a sneer and Stella's forehead crinkled angrily. "He's _our _boyfriend, not yours," the latter said.

"Get off him right now or I'll come in there and whip your ass," the former barked.

Cookie traced his head with her body, eyes locked defiantly with Jordan's, then, with a pained gasp, she sank herself onto his rod.

Clyde speared deep into her boiling core, and his entire body exploded with sensation. Clutching her hips hard, he cried out and threw his groin against hers, her scorching walls wrapping themselves around his shaft. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes squinted, a look of pleasure and pain pinching her face. Stella sucked a shocked intake of breath and Jordan snarled.

Holding onto Clyde's shirt, her eyelids fluttering, Cookie turned to them and tried to speak, but the quvers of sensation rippling through her body converted them into sharp exhalations instead. She could feel every inch of Clyde's dick straining against her walls, spreading them with every throbbing beat of his passion; his tip prodded the back of her womb, pressing on her cervix and sending tendrils of beautiful agony along her spine, from the back of her prickling neck to the top of her butt.

She was _full_, and if she went too fast, as fast as she always wanted to, as fast as she once believed she could handle, her pelvis would split.

It stung so bad, but felt so fucking good too. Oof.

Jordan and Stella glared at her, murder in their eyes. "What?" she said, her voice a breaking whisper, "You said get him off." She turned back to Clyde and smirked at the cute way his eyelids fluttered. She started to rock.

"Fucking cunt," Jordan spat. She scrambled over the window sill and landed on the floor in a heap. Cookie went faster, working through the pain. Her eyes rolled back in her head and Clyde lifted to meet each of her downward motions. His head battered the opening of her womb, knocking cries from her throat.

Just as her orgasm hit, Jordan grabbed her by her hair and dragged her violently off. Tears welled in her eyes, and the pulsing pleasure tearing through her body intensified. She trembled and moaned as Jordan flung her into the wall; her teeth clamped her lower lip and her toes curled inside her shoes. Jordan stood at the foot of the bed, taking giant gulps of air. She looked between Cookie and Clyde, her desire to rip the little bitch apart for taking Clyde's V-card - rightfully hers, by the way - at odds with her desire to take her place on Clyde's dick. She'd never seen one in real life before, so she didn't know if it was big or small, but it was flipping _hot_. It thobbed with every beat of his heart and glistened with his and Cookie's mingled excitement. He squirmed like a bug and behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed to lustful slits.

Fuck it.

She hurried kicked her shoes off, hopping momentarily on one foot, then yanked her shorts and underwear down past her knees. She kicked them aside and jumped onto the bed. She swung one leg over Clyde's hips and shifted onto his lap, the heat rising from his dick unlike anything she'd ever felt before. He looked up at her in shock, and she leered like a perv. "My turn," she said. She grabbed his wrists, held them above his head, and jerked down.

His dick impaled her, and her skull swelled with a bursting combination of ecstasy and agony. Clyde threw his head back and issued a strangled cry. Jordan let out a series of hitching gasps and sucked her lips into her mouth to keep from screaming. Her body shook and convulsed, her walls squeezing him and her hips thrusting involentarly.

Across the room, Stella came through the window with a stumble. Cookie lay on the floor, panting and staring up at the ceiling with narrow, bliss filled eyes. Stella stood where she was, watching, her jaw slack and her breathing heavy.

Jordan ignored the pain and went faster, the bed frame squeaking and the headboard rhymically slapping the wall. Clyde rocked his hips urgently in unison with her movements, and his face twisted. His tip raked Jordan's walls and pounded against her limit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

Without warning, Clyde froze. She furrowed her brows in puzzlement, then gasped when he grew inside of her, bigger, hotter, thicker. Moaning, he thrusted his hips one last time, then molten lead spurted deep into Jordan's womb. Her own end came out of nowhere and consumed her in a ball of flames. She fell limp against him and spasmed like a possessed woman speaking in satanic tongues; Clyde bucked and shivered, his dick packing his load deeper and deeper.

When it was over, she lay next to him, his creamy seed spilling from between her legs. She brushed her fingers through her hair and basked in the warm afterglow of her first climax with a boy. Next to her, Clyde gasped for breath, his dick still hard and his pubic hair matted with thick white globs of cum. At the foot of the bed, Stella stared at it longingly, her face red and her eyes smoldering. She pressed her knees together and held her hands to her crotch like a little girl who had to pee really, really, _really _bad. Jordan propped herself up on her elbows and looked between Stella and Clyde. "Now it's your turn," she ginned.

Stella's eyes widened slightly and darted to Clyde's dick. Cookie sat up against the wall now, looking spent; a hazy smile touched her lips and her eyelids fluttered. "You got enough left in there for Stella?" Jordan playfully asked Clyde.

Clyde nodded. It was all he could do. "Yeah."

"Come on, Stell," Jordan said and patted the bed, "you're gonna love it~"

Stella hesitated, then came tentatively over. She stood over Clyde and stared down at his fully erect penis like a girl coveting a tasty confection in a bakery shop window. She reached for it, then drew her hand shyly back. "Go on," Jordan urged, "touch it."

Darting her eyes back and forth between it and Jordan, she reached out again and closed her fingers around it, her heart sputtering at the unexpected softness of his skin, and the heat. It was like holding a piece of metal fresh from a kiln. She traced it with her fingers, exploring and tasting her girlish curiosity. Her stomach fluttered and her core clutched tightly. She stared at his dick, bewitched, and slowly sank to her knees, needing to touch it...and to taste it.

She leaned over, brushed the slick, salty tip against her lips, then took it into her mouth. Clyde's body tensed and his hand went to her head, fingers threading through her hair. The flavor of salt and copper coated her tongue and the inside of her cheeks, and her pussy dampened. She pushed down until he touched the back of her throat just like she did with the hairbrush. Her gag reflex triggered, but she held it back.

Stroking his shaft, she pulled back, then went down again, working up as much saliva as she could and letting it drip down his rod.

When she couldn't take anymore, she spit him out and climbed onto the bed. "Here," Jordan said and moved aside. She patted the spot she just vacated and grinned. "I have an idea."

Stella got into position, then, at Jordan's direction, she knelt, laid her cheek against the blanket, and thrust her butt up like a bitch in heat. "Doggystyle," Jordan smirked. She glanced over when Cookie sat on the bed, her eyes half-lidded.

Clyde got on his knees behind Stella. He pushed her skirt up over her lower back; she wore white panties, bespeaking virginal purity. In Clyde's addled brain, that was really fucking hot. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down with the unrushed leisure of a man opening a present. Her butt spread to reveal her pink center and her fragrant heat caressed Clyde's senses. She let out a tiny hum at the feeling of cold air and shifted, drawing her knees up.

"Put it in her butt," Cookie said huskily.

"That comes later," Jordan said, "right now he's gotta pop her cherry."

Clyde licked his lips. Stella wiggled her butt as she sought a better position. She didn't mean it to be tempting, but it was anyway. Gripping her hips, he pressed his dick to her opening and she jumped. "Relax," Cookie said.

"Yeah," Jordan added, "it kinda hurts at first but it feel _really _good afterwards."

Stella regulated her nervous breathing and nodded. "Go on, Clyde," Jordan said, "fuck her."

Clyde drew back a little, then surged forward; his dick slid deep into Stella's virgin passage and she hissed through her teeth. She grabbed two handfuls of the blankets, winced, and jerked out a high pitch mewl not unlike a cat in pain. Her body clenched around him and he moaned. "Relax," Jordan repeated. She rubbed a comforting circle in Stella's back and leaned over to imbile the heady scent of hers and Clyde's lovemaking.

Pulling back to almost the head, Clyde slammed forward again. Stella gasped and held fast to the bed. He slowly increased his speed, and soon her grunts of pain turned to moans of pleasure. Her muscles stroked him furiously and her natural lubrication swished around him like bubbling acid. She arched her back and threw herself into his drives, her head bowing and her bangs obscuring her eyes. With every thrust, his balls slapped her pulsating clit and teased her nearer to the end. Cookie and Jordan both watched with blushes and Cheshire smiles, Cookie nibbling her lip and Jordan stroking her hand along Stella's back. Did it make her gay that she wished she had a dick to ravage Stella with too?

Throwing her head back, Stella moaned loudly. Clyde rammed quicker, quicker, his face flushing. Finally, he stopped, and Stella's shocked cry told Jordan that he was shooting his nut into her. Stella shuddered and rode out her finish with a faltering hum. Clyde hung his head and panted for air, then pulled out; thick cum flooded from Stella's pussy and trickled down the backs of her thighs in gleaming rivers.

Weary with exhaustion, Clyde flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Cookie snuggled up on one side, and Jordan and Stella on the other.

"I guess sharing isn't _so _bad," Cookie allowed.

"We'll split him even," Jordan said and ran her index finger down his chest. "And maybe we can have girl time too."

Clyde took a deep breath through his nose. Every dog has his day, an old saying goes, and today...today was _his_.

Maybe I'm useless and not as interesting as my dads, and maybe I _don't _add anything, but I have three beautiful, half naked girls curled up next to me, so...I think I'll manage.

Lincoln can keep his wacky ass adventures and his ten lame-o sisters.

I'm perfectly happy with _my_ life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to bust a nut in Cookie so she doesn't feel left out.

Umf.

* * *

**I won't make any promises, but I have the vague idea for a sequel in mind. Maybe I'll get to it one day, maybe I won't. I really can't say.**


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